


Pull to Open

by Babblefest, ConstantCommentTea



Series: Blood and Time [8]
Category: Angel: the Series, Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Aliens and Demons, Almost Friends to Friends, Angel is Angsty-ish, But There Is a Tiny Bit, But not that kind of roommates, Canon-Typical Violence, Contains Almost No Plot, Conversation Porn, Descriptions of F/M but no actual F/M, Epic Friendship, Fringe Benefits of Having a Vampire Friend, Gen, Heart-to-Heart, Hitting Someone and Hitting It Off Are Definitely the Same Thing, Moral Ambiguity, No plot. No porn. No fun., Okay There's Some Fun, Roommates, Stolen TARDIS, The Doctor Sucks at Chores, The Doctor on His Own, Unwanted Houseguest, as canon compliant as possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 76,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babblefest/pseuds/Babblefest, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantCommentTea/pseuds/ConstantCommentTea
Summary: The Doctor asks Angel help him look for his stolen TARDIS. The TARDIS somehow gets even more stolen in spite of their best efforts. Now Angel and the Doctor need to fight their toughest enemy yet: boredom.
Relationships: Angel & 11, Angel/Oc
Series: Blood and Time [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/89854
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	1. The Demon Parking Authority

**Author's Note:**

> Were you just thinking to yourself that these stories could do with less plot and more Angel and the Doctor sitting in a bar chatting?
> 
> You're welcome.
> 
>  **Notes on the Timeline:** In the Whoniverse, this is set after the Doctor dropped Amy and Rory off at their new house and is putting some distance between himself and them. Sometimes when the Doctor travels alone, he visits Queen Nefertiti, and other times, he visits a surly vampire.
> 
> In the Angelverse…this is 200 years post-NFA. See the Newbies note for more on that. 
> 
> If you’ve read _War Stories_ , this is 23 years later (and if you want to fill in some of that gap, go read the _Interaction_ series).
> 
> Same-same, but different fyi: This story occurs simultaneously with _Confidants and Rubies_ from the _Interaction_ series. They do not need to be read in tandem or in any order or at all for either to make sense – all of the relevant info is given at the appropriate times. Honestly, they’re two completely different stories; there’s just some emotional things going on that tie them together (aside from, you know, happening in the same time frame).
> 
>  **For Newbies to Either/Both Series:** As noted, this is part of the _Blood and Time_ series and a crossover with Constant Comment Tea’s _Interaction_ series. You don’t have to be as insane as we are to read this story.
> 
> Context:  
> 1\. Angel and the Doctor are friends-ish. Angel has met 9, 10, and 11.  
> 2\. The year is 2229. Angel is living in Galway, Ireland, where he brought Connor to spend his last days. (Connor is, sadly, no longer with us, but Angel stuck around.)  
> 3\. The possible accidental murder of the Doctor that Angel wonders about happened in _A Short Trip Outside the Universe_ ( _Blood and Time_ series).  
> 4\. Judith Cole is a long-time friend of Angel’s. When Judith’s son, William, was 9, Angel rescued and accidentally befriended him, and then even more accidentally became a mentor/father figure for him after William’s parents divorced. William is now a married adult living somewhere outside of town. (Reference: _The Art of Human Interaction,_ Interaction series.)  
> 5\. Angel and Judith’s friendship very recently (and surprisingly to both of them--and to CCT, honestly) became sexual, but not romantic. Context is given in this story, but the actual details are in _Confidants and Rubies_ (which, as said above, spans the same time frame as this story). (Sorry, we know: 25 years of crossover backstory and a simultaneous fic. The series notes do warn you that we like things complicated.)

“You know, I’ve never understood space travel,” Angel said, leaning back against the booth as he swirled his drink pensively in one hand. 

He was grasping. Despite the nonchalance of the smooth, circular wrist movements and the casual airiness of his tone, Judith Cole knew he was grasping. How? She was grasping, too.

“Me neither,” she said. “Mechanically, anyway. I understand some of the physics; I understand why we pursue it… Wait, did you mean why we pursue it?” Angel never seemed to exhibit the same insatiable exploratory curiosity as humans and she suddenly realized that she didn’t understand what he was getting at - aside from getting away from the obvious.

“Yeah.” Seeming to settle into the idea that this conversation could actually go somewhere, Angel relaxed his arms against the table. “I mean... When I was growing up, Dublin was nearly two days away. I didn’t go to the New World until the early 20th century and it was incredible that we could make it there in a week. Now...kids are taking school trips to the moon, and Mars is an exotic travel destination.”

Judith nodded, also settling into the conversation. _There, that wasn’t so hard, now, was it?_

It was their first time meeting at the Dragon’s Crown since a few weeks ago when Angel had gone home with Judith and spent the night. Since then, there hadn’t really been opportunity to re-establish the norm where they meet up as friends and don’t go home as lovers. “Just one night” had become three, and tonight was a test for the hypothetical Number Four.

It might help if they talked about it; and they would - eventually. Judith usually liked to talk things out, but Angel didn’t; and the flavor of uncertain excitement he brought to each encounter was reminding Judith why she _used_ to not like to talk things like this out, either. While it was new, it also felt safe, and that was why she was helping him search for a different topic.

A lock of hair that had recently turned particularly silvery slid out of the clip at the back of Judith’s head and over one eye, and she tucked it behind her ear instead. “It’s incredible to me, too. And I even went on one of those school trips.”

“How did you like it? The moon?”

Judith smiled at the memory. “It was magical. The way we could practically fly around the surface like birds, the way the moondust seemed to glow with sunlight, the idea that we were so far from Earth, anything could happen. I was 9.” She paused. “And in a sense, it was frustrating to be there, as well. It’s the closest I had ever come to touching the stars, and they were still so far away.”

Judith looked at Angel and brought herself back to Earth. She took a sip of her gin and tonic. “And you? Have you ever been?”

Angel nodded slowly, and Judith knew him well enough by now to tell that there was much more to that nod than a simple “yes.” She waited while he tapped his glass thoughtfully with his fingertips.

Finally, Angel nodded again, this time like he’d made a decision. “There were these...fish,” he said. “Really, they were grad students, but they looked like fish, and they-- No wait, before that I was-- Well, moving quantum statues don’t really have anything to do with the moon, you know, but if you want context...” 

Judith’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Angel wasn’t known for his eloquence, but since they were talking about the moon, he had lost her at “fish.”

Angel stopped and gave a short sigh of frustration. Clearing his throat, he started over: “There was this...man who...” Angel stopped again, trailing off, but this time it didn’t look so much like he’d lost track of the story he was failing spectacularly to tell and more like something had caught his eye.

Judith waited and when he didn’t seem to be coming back to their conversation, she turned around in the booth, pushing herself up and around to see the entrance of the pub.

There was a man standing near the entrance in conversation with a demon. This wasn’t particularly odd. It was just after midnight and this pub did cater to demons during the later hours. 

But it struck Judith that it wasn’t the demon that looked out of place - even though at about a meter tall it was rather short for a demon - but the man. His tweed jacket and suspenders were downright old-fashioned and clashed with his practical-looking boots, and all of that did not seem to match the somewhat childish flop to his hair. Most of all, nothing about what he was wearing seemed to have anything at all with his posture, which shouted stoney control. 

The man stopped speaking and the demon started nodding frantically. It pointed and for a moment Judith thought it was pointing at her before she realized that it must be pointing at Angel instead. 

The man took several purposeful strides in their direction before he actually noticed them. He paused, looking for the briefest second completely shocked. And then it was gone. He spun around and returned to the demon, kneeling in front of it like one does with children. 

“Thank you,” he said, and Judith could only just make out his words from across the room. The next words she caught were something about a suggestion and a ship leaving Earth.

“But--” the demon started.

Something too quiet to be heard and then, “...half an hour.”

“But the engines--”

The man in the tweed suit raised his voice pointedly and Judith could hear him fully now. 

“I think you’ll find that someone has rerouted all of the power from the laser cannon to the engine. You shouldn’t have a problem taking off.” 

The demon sputtered, anger rising in his voice. “The lasers...those are the only defenses. We need those to--”

“I _suggest_ ,” the man said, sounding like he wasn’t suggesting anything as much as ordering it, “that you try being as polite as possible to anyone you run into if your defenses are not fully operational.” He straightened and turned in Angel and Judith’s direction and then added over his shoulder to the retreating demon, “Half an hour! I’ll check.” 

He turned frontward again and stopped when he reached their table. “Hello, Angel.” It was the kind of _Hello_ you give to a long-time associate with whom you have grave news to discuss.

Angel looked a little more than stunned. “Does that phrase, ‘Speak of the Devil,’ actually _work?_ ”

Judith let out surprised, “Oh.” _This_ was the man Angel had just brought up? Not prone to hyperbole, Judith was now inclined to think that the phrase _Speak of the Devil_ was a legitimate magic spell and she should be very careful when using it in the future.

The man in tweed seemed to consider the question. “I’m not sure how far it applies away from the actual Devil,” he finally said. “But even that was more thought basis. Perhaps they should change it to ‘think of the Devil.’ It doesn’t have the same ring to it though.” 

“I bet it would if that were the original phrase,” Judith interjected. “Humans place more importance on habit than we often realize.”

“Don’t they just?” the man said with a smile that seemed like it was made just for Judith. It was both warm and disarming. “I’m the Doctor,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Judith Cole,” Judith replied, and took his hand. She did not ask “Doctor of what?” or “Doctor Who?” She’d been friends with Angel long enough to know that some men had just the one name, which happened to be a noun, and which concealed their original birth name for a reason. 

He shook her hand once and then kissed the air on either side of her face with a sort of formality. Like he’d been told to do it by his mother. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, looking her in the eye and seemingly giving that whole moment just to her. 

And then he seemed to forget about her completely. “Angel,” he said, dropping Judith’s hand. “You must know that you have thrown me off. I had a speech ready. I did. I am quite angry and I was about to tell the Person In Charge that they had better shape up or else and then that poor fellow from Trippe goes and tells me that _you_ happen to be in charge.” He marched two steps over to another table and snatched a chair and then marched the two steps back, swinging the chair around and flopping into it. He crossed his arms and looked...sulky. 

Judith stared at Angel. She had not been prepared for this turn of events. Angel seemed equally thrown, but not as equally surprised. 

The Doctor tapped his foot.

Angel glanced around uncertainly and then said, “I’m sorry?”

“That’s a start,” the Doctor said. “But I would prefer the return of my TARDIS and explanation for why, when I started asking who the person is that would know where the TARDIS is and who had _allowed_ it to be moved at all, everyone eventually said that it was you.” He sat back again, giving Angel the expression every parent gave their child right before they said that they weren’t angry, just disappointed. 

“Er...” Angel shifted uncomfortably, exactly like said child might. “I have no idea where your TARDIS is, Doctor. Where did you leave it? If it was near here, I’m not actually the one to ask; that’d be Joan, the Empath Demon.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s a TARDIS?” Judith asked. It was such an intriguing word. It sounded more like a place than a thing; a place that was both ridiculous and profound at the same time.

The Doctor stopped staring at Angel to look at Judith. “It looks like an old police call box,” he said, watching her, waiting to see if that had any meaning. It held a little meaning: Judith could extrapolate that it was probably related to a phone booth, but such things were only found in the occasional museum now. How could the Doctor possibly have one and then misplace it? 

The Doctor continued, “It’s a blue box. Taller than me. Says ‘Police Call Box’ on it. I happen to be very fond of it.”

“I see,” Judith replied slowly. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen any of those around recently. What does it do?”

The Doctor smiled wistfully at the ceiling. “ _Everything._ ” 

“Goodness,” Judith said. “That’s quite a police box.”

The Doctor looked back at her. “Well, it’s not a police box. It just _looks_ like one. See?”

“An undercover police box? How clever.”

He laughed. “Isn’t it? And she really is the most lovely shade of blue. I love that color. I would show it to you, of course, except that it happens to have been nicked off of the street like some car with a parking ticket.” He shot a look at Angel that clearly said that he had _not_ forgotten about him and that he was still in trouble.

“I’m not in charge of the parking,” Angel replied, deadpan. Judith stifled a snicker.

“My parking is perfect,” the Doctor said, sounding huffy about the whole issue. “And it’s not a car anyway.”

Judith decided to step in and be the mediator. It was often part of her job as a Pillar Therapist, after all, and she slipped easily into the role. “Doctor,” she said calmly. “Can you give us any other information?” She said ‘us,’ though she really meant Angel. He was the one with the connections, but she thought inserting herself into the effort might help. “Where you left it, if you noticed any clues at the scene, that sort of thing?”

“Smelled a bit like sulfur,” the Doctor said. “And I hear that the power has been going out for the last couple of nights. Sounds like a clue to me!” He smiled mischievously. “I wonder if they’re actually trying to break into the TARDIS. It’s probably adorable. If you help me find it Angel, we could sit and watch for a bit.”

Angel looked briefly like that might be a tempting idea. 

“Unless they try to break the lock with a temporal fold manipulator. That might be...bad.”

Judith frowned. “How bad?”

“Well, depending on how much power they used of course, they could get stuck in a time loop until we find them. Or even worse, they could decide to not use enough power and only trap a bit of themselves in the loop, which would, of course, take that bit off.”

Judith leaned forward, intrigued. “Time loop?” she asked.

Angel shifted suddenly. “Uh, Doctor...” he said quietly. The Doctor ignored him.

“Exactly. It’s very dangerous to send only a part of yourself back in time. Particularly for...actually particularly for _most_ things. The part just goes missing and then you have to deal with the consequences of, say, your hand going on holiday.” He gave her a solemn look. “It’s not pretty.”

Judith’s heart skipped a beat at the phrase, “back in time,” and she had to remind herself to breathe. Could she have heard that wrong?

“Oh no...” Angel said across from her, letting his head fall into his hand.

“Exactly,” the Doctor told Angel. “Which is why we should get her back as soon as possible.”

“That’s really not what I meant,” he muttered.

Judith leaned forward even further. “Did you say…‘back in time’?”

The Doctor turned back to Judith. “Or forward,” he told her. “The direction doesn’t matter. The result is the same.”

Judith made an odd choking noise in the back of her throat and needed to take several moments to properly digest this and what it meant for her life, which had completely and utterly changed as of that moment.

The Doctor seemed perfectly happy to chatter on while she composed herself. “Unless, of course, your genetic code is temporally solid. _Then_ you just get time sickness. The thing is that your body, and actually the bodies of most things, are not temporally solid at all. It’s like you took some dominoes and...actually, no, it’s not like dominoes. Forget the dominoes.”

Judith turned to Angel suddenly. “Angel, it’s been 23 years and not _once_ have you mentioned that you know someone with a _time machine_. I promise you, the most important question for you to answer right now is, _Why?_ ”

Angel leaned away as far as he could and took a very long sip of his scotch.

“It’s like,” the Doctor decided, “we’re different kinds of stone. What do you know about rocks? Actually, forget those too.”

“Well, you know,” Angel mumbled, shifting again. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up or anything… I mean I haven’t seen the Doctor in 200 years...aside from that one time about 20 years ago - or 23, you said? - but it was his past-past self, so that doesn’t really… I mean, I didn’t know if he was still around and...” Angel took another long sip of his drink, looking more guilty than he probably should have.

“I see,” Judith said cooly.

The Doctor stopped talking to look at Angel. “200 years? Is that how long it’s been for you?” He looked around the room. “What year is this anyway?”

“2229,” Angel replied. 

“That’s a great year!” the Doctor announced. He leaned over to Judith and added in low tones. “This New Year, I suggest making the trip to New York. The fireworks are wonderful. Not so wonderful as 2150, but they had something to celebrate that year, didn’t they?” 

Judith leaned in toward the Doctor, a youthful sparkle in her eye. “Show me.”

The Doctor grinned like the boy that made off with every single cookie in the jar and did not get caught. “Twice if you’d like.” He leaned back and sighed. “Once we find the TARDIS, of course.” 

Judith turned to Angel, standing up. “Angel, let’s go. It shouldn’t be too hard for you to find some creatures that smell like sulphur.” 

Angel looked up at her with a slightly bewildered expression. He glanced at the Doctor, then back at Judith, and sighed in defeat. He stood, also, finishing the last of his glass, and followed Judith, who was already halfway to the door with her coat on and tying her scarf around her neck. 

In a previous life, before hospital counseling and raising a child, Judith had been working on a Master’s degree in history and would have given just about anything for a chance to take a trip in a time machine. Though she’d been to the past before, the trip was hardly a positive experience: searching desperately for her lost son and then having to let him go again before they could return home. She’d hardly even noticed that they were in the 1950’s, much less appreciated it. 

But that part of her that loved the stories of history (and loved even more that they were _real_ ) still lived, and it reignited every time Angel started talking nostalgically about “back in _his_ day,” or when he lent her one of his very old books. Now, she felt as if the flames were dancing in her feet, urging her on like some beacon toward the Doctor’s promised trip. They were _going_ to find that wonderful blue police box that did “everything.”

~~~~~

“I like her,” the Doctor said as he fell into step next to Angel. He nodded at Judith as she exited the pub. “Does she have any idea where she’s going?”

“Seriously doubt it,” Angel replied as they followed her. He was not actually all that concerned with where they were going; since the Doctor had shown up, half of Angel’s focus was on figuring out if he’d survived Angel drinking from his neck and leaving him bleeding on the TARDIS floor two hundred years ago. 

There had been a good reason for it. Well... A _reasonable_ reason. If Angel hadn’t consumed the Doctor’s blood and absorbed the Doctor’s genetic time-stability, Angel would have been killed. What Angel hadn’t been prepared for was just how potent the Doctor’s blood was (which, Angel thought later, he maybe should have realized - a thousand-ish-year-old being with more lives to come? Of _course_ that much life would be addicting after several years on pig’s blood). He’d drunk more than he’d needed, and certainly more than the Doctor could safely give; and in Angel’s delirious rush to find help, the TARDIS had locked Angel out and then left, and Angel never found out if it was the Doctor or the ship’s eerie sentience that initiated the take-off sequence. 

The next time Angel had seen the Doctor was centuries later (now a little more than twenty years ago), and that was a much earlier version of the Doctor. At the time, Angel’s conundrum had been whether or not he should warn the Doctor about the incident. But now, this Doctor looked like the one Angel had drunk from, and Angel wondered how one might clandestinely ask if it was before or after one devoured one’s friend, since his neck and any telltale scarring was conveniently hidden under his collar and bow-tie.

Time travel gave Angel such a headache and he wondered how Judith could be so enamoured with the idea.

“Oh,” the Doctor said pleasantly. “I really like her then.”

Alarm bells began ringing for Angel. “You can’t have her, if you’re looking for another Companion.”

The Doctor stopped briefly and then jogged a few steps to catch up with Angel, running into the door as it swung behind him. “What? That’s just...I didn’t mean...wait, are you?” He gave Angel a pointed look as they followed Judith’s path, taking Angel’s elbow and slowing him down just a tad to let Judith take herself a little further out of earshot. “You aren’t engaged are you?” he whispered, his breath coming in clouds in the cold winter air. “Because there was this one time...”

“No,” Angel cut him off quickly. “Definitely not engaged.” As of two weeks ago, definitely not more than friends. How many times could you have sex with ‘just a friend’ before it became ‘more than’? Angel was finding that he was going to have to know pretty soon, especially if the answer was ‘more than three but we haven’t talked about it yet.’

“Oh, good,” the Doctor sighed in relief. “And it looks like she’s too old for her mother to show up and slap me. Why does everyone’s mother always slap me?” He looked at Angel again. “You’re not going to slap me are you?” He took several steps away from Angel.

Angel looked sideways at the Doctor. “When did you last see me?” he asked.

The Doctor’s hands stilled, his causal energy pulling back into him like a tide. He coughed, rocked on his heels, and muttered, “Connor.” 

Angel didn’t have to ask more than that. The Doctor had met baby Connor once, but if that was what he meant, he would have said it with a lot more yelling and hugging and reminding Angel that they were going to take Connor to Disneyland. Instead, the Doctor meant the Moment he’d given Angel after Connor had been taken; a suspension in time to grieve and think before moving forward.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor added quickly, like it hadn’t been two hundred years. 

Angel nodded. “Thanks. And...thank you. I can’t remember if I ever did thank you for that, after threatening to kill you and all. But it helped; the Moment did.”

Something of a smile crept across the Doctor’s face. “I’m glad, then,” he said. “I’m always happy to help.” 

Angel returned it weakly. So this version of the Doctor was from before Angel drank potentially all the Doctor’s blood from his neck to save his own life. 

Great. 

That just made things kind of awkward. 

Angel sucked in some cold winter air. “Maybe we should catch up with Judith and steer her in the right direction. Not that midnight walks aren’t great and all…”

The Doctor’s smile widened. “Perfect!” he cried. His feet swung into action, propelling him down the street after Judith. “Between you and me, that was turning into something of an endless moment, too.” 

It had been, but Angel couldn’t agree before the Doctor was off and Angel had to jog to catch up to him.

“She’s very excitable, isn’t she?” the Doctor said when Angel caught up to him. “Not that I’m not excitable. Excitable could be my middle name. It’s not. But it could be.” 

Angel raised an eyebrow in the Doctor’s direction. Normally Judith wasn’t this excitable at all, except when Angel had found new Very Old things to show her. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

“I try my best not to,” The Doctor admitted solemnly. 

“Doctor. Judith is a historian. Practically by birth.”

The Doctor made a face. “A historian?” He sounded doubtful. “That’s almost as bad as an archeologist. Then again...”

“And you’re not the least bit concerned that by finding the TARDIS, all of her lifetime dreams are about to come true? She might actually try to steal it, you know. I mean, Judith is one of the most moral people I’ve ever met, and she _actually_ could try it.”

The Doctor scoffed. “Angel, how could she possibly steal the TARDIS? It’s not like she’d know how to work it. There isn’t even an instruction manual. And it could all be very easily fixed with a quick trip or two don’t you think?”

Angel looked at him dubiously. After a moment, he said, “ _You_ stole it...”

The Doctor scuffed one of his feet on the street as they walked. “Yeah,” he admitted. “She was just so beautiful, you know?” The Doctor glanced at Angel until he realized that he didn’t share the Doctor’s infatuation. His countenance fell. “And there is a big difference between _me_ stealing a TARDIS and Judith Cole from 2229 trying to steal a TARDIS.” 

“Let’s hope you’re right...” Angel replied as they caught up to Judith, who was waiting at a street corner.

“Well?” she asked Angel breathlessly.

“We were following you,” the Doctor told her, like this was a reasonable course of action.

Judith hesitated only the slightest moment. “Well, Angel should still be tracking the culprits,” she said like it was obvious.

“Indeed,” agreed the Doctor, rocking back on his heels and looking at Angel again. 

Somewhat miffed at being used as a bloodhound, Angel glanced around obligingly. “Where did you park it?” he asked the Doctor. Didn’t he ask that already? How was he supposed to be expected to help if his questions were ignored?

“Um,” the Doctor spun around once and then spun in the other direction. “Over here!” He bounded off down the street to the left. 

Two blocks later, the Doctor stopped under a very large, very prominent, “NO PARKING” sign. 

“Okay,” Angel said, staring up at it. “I know I said I’m not in charge of parking, but _really_?”

“I already checked the impound,” the Doctor admitted, looking at least a little ashamed. But only a little. “Signs are a bit hard to read in the Vortex, you know, and...well, once she’s all parked...”

Angel gave a slight roll of his eyes and looked around.

“Does the supernatural world have its own impound?” Judith asked Angel.

“I thought underground societies were to get away from parking tickets,” said the Doctor happily.

“That’s not their sole purpose,” Angel said dryly.

The Doctor nodded. “Of course, but if they get much worse I go and talk to the manager.” He gave Angel a look.

“ _I’m_ not the manager,” Angel argued. “But over there,” he jerked his head, “smells kinda sulphur-y.”

“Wonderful,” the Doctor clapped his hands and walked in the direction Angel had indicated. He looked up as they walked. “I think the real question,” he said, pulling out his sonic screwdriver and aiming in long sweeping lines along the sidewalk, “is where do they tap into a power source big enough to even try to break into a TARDIS? Or, at least a power line that would make a very stupid person _think_ that they could break into a TARDIS.”

As the Doctor was talking, Judith stepped over to Angel and touched his arm. “Thank you, by the way,” she said, her eyes shining with a genuine gratitude. 

Angel gave her a small smile in response. He had long ago found that Judith Cole was one of those people who was worth making happy. She never demanded happiness from anyone, so when she got it she always treated it like she’d just been given a beautiful gift. This time, a little more so, since she was probably feeling like a child at Christmas.

And then his entire right side erupted in pain and Angel suddenly found himself on the ground. 

Angel cried out (and Judith did also, in shock), and rolled away from the impact of whatever hit him, throwing the thing off him and into the wall behind them. It hit with a _thud_ and Angel took the brief moment he had before it recovered to stand up and look at it. 

The creature was a short, spiney, dirty-looking thug of a demon. So that was why it hurt so much: the spines hadn’t been sharp enough to impale Angel, but they had broken the skin in several places on his arm and side. Angel crouched in a fighting stance and the creature attacked again. Ready this time, the fight was short, but vigorous. Angel was advancing and about to give the demon the very last blow when the Doctor suddenly stepped away from that wall. 

“That’s enough,” he said, placing himself between Angel’s fist and the creature. If it weren’t for Angel's reflexes, the Doctor would have gotten himself slugged in the gut. Not that that would have been a particularly new thing for either of them...

“Why?” Angel asked in a low voice.

“No one is dying today.” It was odd how his voice had changed from the light tones he had been using moments ago to the sound of authority itself. “No one,” he told Angel again, like he wanted to be sure that Angel couldn’t say he hadn’t heard. 

Angel stared at the Doctor a long moment. “This isn’t your city, Doctor,” Angel said quietly. “And this _is_ what I’m in charge of.” 

Actually, it wasn’t _entirely_ Angel’s city. He had claimed a territory that started to the east of them on the other side of Lough Atalia, but in this circumstance with this creature, Galway was definitely more “Angel’s,” and the Doctor was not in charge of how Angel conducted his affairs there. He was attacked; he had rights. Like the right to kill his attacker. It seemed stunningly obvious to him.

The Doctor stepped a bit closer to Angel. “This is my _planet_ ,” he said, calm but tense. “And this is an alien, which makes it what _I’m_ in charge of.” 

Angel stared coldly at the Doctor long enough for everyone to know that he wasn’t pleased and that it was _not_ a good thing when Angel was not pleased. They had been here before. On the moon, with the fish grad students. The Doctor (with a different face) defending the lives of both allies and hostiles and Angel defending his home and his own. Neither of them had really won that argument, in the end. But arguing it now would incite more violence than even Angel thought was necessary. He’d already likely killed the Doctor once - doing it again would be tragically excessive.

“No second chances,” Angel told the Doctor steely, and took a conciliatory step back.

The Doctor’s glare, his look of authority, faded. His head tilted briefly, doglike and young. “Do you really believe that?” 

Angel was surprised; if the Doctor was going to challenge him on that he’d expected flat-out rejection. Angel glanced over at Judith, who had cautiously approached from behind Angel now that the fighting seemed to have stopped. She was watching for his answer with the same curious expectation she always did when she asked him similar questions over drinks at the Dragon’s Crown. And Angel hesitated like he always did.

Judith had the most steadfast moral code of anyone Angel knew, but part of her appeal as a friend was that she didn’t hold Angel to the same code. Like Angel, she believed her sense of morality made her safe for others to be around, to invest in, and she understood how one code could not possibly fit all circumstances. Still, Angel didn’t like the look he got when a particular clause of their respective moral codes deeply clashed, and he had a feeling this was one of those times.

Angel turned back to the Doctor. “In some cases,” he answered honestly. “In this one, yeah.” No second chances. “It’s important to me.”

The Doctor’s forehead wrinkled up as he considered Angel’s answer. “Well,” he started, but then he stood straighter and pulled his shoulders back. “Where do you think _you’re_ going?” he demanded, using what Angel was starting to think of as his Dad-Voice.

The injured demon (er...alien) cringed and stopped trying to creep away. The Doctor twisted away from Angel and placed his hands on his hips, looking down at the creature. He made a series of clicking noises with his tongue and whistled between his teeth. 

The demon looked confused. Still hurting and fully aware that it had been caught, it sat on the pavement and rubbed a clawed hand on its injured shoulder. It clicked sullenly back.

“Why would it attack us?” Judith wondered out loud, mostly toward Angel while the Doctor continued to click and whistle. “Such a small creature singly attacking a group of three? Seems rather stupid to me.” 

The Doctor turned briefly away from his conversation with the demon to smile at Judith. “Good point,” he said. “Although they are a bit better at fighting than you think. That initial attack was supposed to take Angel out, which would have left us to deal with, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not that good at fighting. Fortunately, Angel is probably immune to most poisons. You are, aren’t you?” He looked at Angel worryingly. 

“Most of them,” Angel replied tersely, though he began to examine his gently-bleeding injuries anyway, just in case.

“Good.” The Doctor turned back to the alien and trilled at it, occasionally adding a click of his tongue and on one occasion a sweeping wave of his hand that nearly hit Judith. 

It clicked back at the Doctor briefly and tried to push its way up from the ground.

The Doctor looked over his shoulder at Angel and then shifted a bit so he was out of view. The alien clicked again. He gave the alien a longsuffering look and then turned to Angel. “Could you step back a bit? You’re scaring him.”

Angel gave the Doctor an exasperated glare. He stepped back about two inches and crossed his arms defiantly.

The Doctor shrugged helplessly at the alien. His expression shifted to seriousness and he seemed to ask it something in earnest. The alien replied. This went on for a while: the Doctor clicking and trilling and occasionally humming questions and the alien responding. Towards the end, it looked like the Doctor was not gesturing as a part of the language but miming the shape of the TARDIS. The alien shook its head.

Eventually, the Doctor reached across the alien and pulled something out of its pocket (it had pockets?). The alien shrieked and made a grab for it, but the Doctor stood up, bringing the device out of reach. He casually flipped it over and stepped back as the alien made another grab for him. The Doctor hummed a bit; maybe at the creature or maybe to himself. 

The alien seemed to change tactics and started whimpering. “Oh, come now,” the Doctor chided. “It’s not _that_ bad.” He pressed several buttons on the device and dropped it back onto the alien. He crouched down again and said something to it and then pointed to the wall under the “NO PARKING” sign. The alien nodded miserably. 

The Doctor nodded and stood. “Come on,” he said to Judith and Angel. He was already walking back towards the main street.

Angel followed reluctantly. 

“But what about the creature?” Judith asked from ahead of Angel. It now seemed to be trying to prop itself against the wall using only one arm. “What did you do?”

The Doctor paused at the main intersection. He looked over at Judith and said, “I called his parents.” The light changed and the Doctor crossed the street. 

“Oh!” Judith glanced back at the creature. “Yes, that makes sense now,” she agreed.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” said Angel, still on the this-thing-tried-to-kill-me line of thought, which ran directly parallel with demons-don’t-have-parents (except in the strictly biological sense. And not even all species had those).

“His parents,” the Doctor repeated. “Kid’s got rotten luck and terrible friends, but it’s hard to pick good friends where you’re young.” 

Angel glared back at the de-- alien, but the longer he looked at it, the more it did look like a miserable teenager. It slumped under the sign the Doctor had indicated with a sullen expression, seemingly determined to ignore both the Doctor and Angel in hopes that this part of its night would quickly disappear. And then it pulled that device out of its pocket and prodded at the buttons.

Angel could swear the Doctor warped reality around him when he showed up places. It wasn’t right. And, fearing he was turning into a teenager himself Angel thought, it wasn’t _fair._

“I know I didn’t pick good friends when I was a teenager,” Angel sighed, facing forward again.

“Nor me,” Judith agreed.

“There you go,” said the Doctor clapping his hands together. “Anyway, he was a little helpful. Angel, have you ever heard of a group called the Westlanders?”

~~~~~

There was a new player in town, and he was recruiting. 

Auditions were tonight, and Grop was determined to pass. He hadn’t met this new guy yet, but word on the street was that Iral was the real deal. Word on the street...was that Iral had _Seth Aisner_ worried.

If Grop could get in with a boss on _that_ league, everything would be right. He’d have status at work. Grina might finally notice him. His parents would welcome him home for Halloween again. He could afford a new place - maybe one _not_ in the vampire’s territory. There was a reason his sewer flat was so cheap.

It was a simple audition, too: just find the Time Lord and bring him back to Iral. Iral had the blue timeship. The Time Lord was supposed to...honestly, Grop hadn’t been paying attention to what the Time Lord was for, if he’d ever been told. The Time Lord was wanted. And Grop had the best sense of smell east of Lough Atalia. 

Grop had picked up the Time Lord’s distinctive scent north of the Dragon’s Crown and followed it in a winding, chaotic route past the spiny Qlen, who was weeping under a No Parking sign (and who looked rather beaten up, Grop noted with concern - not for the Qlen but for himself. Was the Time Lord capable of that? They hadn’t been warned about the violence of Time Lords…). Grop leapt lizard-like from building wall to building wall across dark alleys and slithered along shadowed crevices, gaining on the sharp gunpowder scent of the Time Lord.

Then he heard voices. Unusual, this time of night and in the dead of winter. Grop quickened his pace.

He peered around the corner of a building cautiously out on the sidewalk and he hissed in excitement - there it was, the Time Lord! - but he just as quickly deflated. The vampire was with him. It was just Grop’s luck, too. Why did it have to be _his_ landlord protecting the prize? 

There was a human female with them, too, but after a quick taste of the air, Grop paid her no mind. She was only a human, though Grop thought he might have seen her at the Dragon’s Crown a few times. An odd human, then. He slipped back into the alleys.

Grop couldn’t win a fight against Angelus - though his tail club could deliver quite the powerful blow - and it would be social and safe housing suicide to try. He would have to lure them to Iral. But how?

Grop paused at the exit of the next alley over, sideways on the wall, waiting for the group to pass.

Waiting…

A cold hand flattened Grop’s neck against the wall and Grop choked, sputtering and flailing. “Back in _my_ day,” Angelus’ voice growled as he peeled Grop off the wall by the neck and slowly turned him to look in his yellow eyes, “we didn’t have no damn _scavenger hunt_ to recruit minions.” Grop gulped, his long tail just barely flicking the ground. “We had proper _fights to the death._ ”

“Hellooooo!” said the Time Lord, his face appearing next to Angelus’s with a good-natured and welcoming smile. “How has your evening been?” 

“Angel, I don’t think it can breathe,” the woman’s voice said from behind both of them. Angelus released his hold a fraction.

Grop choked again, the words catching in his manacled throat. “Ira-- Ira-- l--.”

“Angel,” both the woman and the Time Lord said again, and Angelus loosened his hold a bit more.

“Iral,” Grop managed to sputter out this time. He paused for air.

“If you keep holding him by the neck, he’ll take all night to answer,” the Time Lord pointed out. Including actually pointing a finger at the hand around Grop’s neck. 

Angelus slowly set Grop down, his vampire visage retreating, though looking no less menacing for it. Grop took several deep breaths of air while he eyed the three towering people above him. This was why he preferred walking on walls.

“Where’s the TARDIS?” Angelus demanded.

“With Iral,” Grop answered quickly, his voice still raspy. “Down at the Renmore Pier.”

“The one with the carnival?” Angelus asked, sounding concerned. “Or the actual docks?”

“With the carnival,” Grop replied. Some years ago, Angelus had lost control of the docks and couldn’t be seen near them. This was well known.

“And what exactly are you trying to do with it?” the Time Lord asked.

Grop shrugged. “Open it. Said they needed the Time Lord.” Angelus and the Time Lord looked down at him, waiting for more. More that he certainly didn’t know. He’d wanted a job that involved sniffing people out, not masterminding box-opening plans. “What’s in it?” he asked, curious in spite of himself.

“Never. You. Mind. That.” The Time Lord sniffed. “Come on, Angel. The Pier!” 

“Wait!” Grop cried before he could stop himself. All three looked down at him curiously and Grop couldn’t help but feel like a flock of birds had just eyed him as a potential meal. “Let me come with you.” He said this to the Time Lord, who seemed reasonable in a way Angelus was not. “I can get you close.” _I can still get the credit._

The Time Lord looked questioningly over at Angelus, who looked down at Grop. Grop tried not to shrink away.

“How many are down there?” Angelus asked.

“Iral, Flill, and half a dozen guards. Plus all the other recruits tailing your scent.”

Angelus looked back at the Time Lord and gave a minute nod that meant, “If we must it’s okay with me,” but that Grop was going to take as, “We desperately need him and I’ll protect him personally until we get there.” It just made him feel more relaxed, even if it was a lie.

The Doctor considered him for another long moment. “One of the leaders doesn’t happen to be a scary lady with an eyepatch, do they?”

Grop shook his head.

“Come on, then,” the Doctor said, shrugging his shoulders. “The more the merrier.” 

Grop breathed a deep sigh of relief and scampered ahead, leading the way.

~~~~~

The Renmore Piers were a family favorite summer evening destination for Galway’s residents. It boasted a giant, colorfully-lit ferris wheel that also had some impressive pyrotechnic effects for holidays and celebrations. There were arcades and concessions and the best seafood restaurant in town, and, of course, small docks for the recreational boater. Day rentals and season rentals were available, and it was just a short walk to a small beach.

Judith and her ex-husband Sam had often taken William here when he was growing up, and she’d continued taking him a few summers after the divorce, but by then he was starting to go with friends more often than with her. She knew the place well and had many fond memories of it.

Which was why she was more than a little uncomfortable with breaking in, even though the electronic security system that had locked the gate was so far behind them she couldn’t even see it anymore. None of the others seemed phased, though (it was the Doctor who had actually done the breaking - only he didn’t call it breaking when he was using a screwdriver to do it), so Judith didn’t say anything. Instead, she focused on the importance of getting the Doctor’s ship back, even though there was little she could actually do to help.

It being mid-January, the docks were closed and empty for the season, the buildings locked and dark and tucked into winter security systems. They crept quietly along the road that lined the bay, the docks to their right and storage lockers to their left. The ferris wheel loomed up ahead like a sleeping sea monster. All was not quiet.

They had nearly reached the ticket office, its bright red paint peeling and dingy, when Judith began to see movement and hear voices. Grop leapt from the street to the near side wall of the ticket office and led them back, away from the docks. They paused at the far side of the ticket office for a moment while Grop clung to the peeling red wall and peered toward the main promenade down the alleyway made by the office and the seafood restaurant on the other side. After a second, he jerked his flat reptilian head down the alley and disappeared into the darkness.

They followed one-by one, the alley so narrow that Angel had to twist his broad shoulders slightly sideways to fit. The Doctor went first, then Angel, and Judith brought up the rear.

This meant that she had no view of the main promenade, but she gathered from Angel and the Doctor’s hushed whispers that the TARDIS was out there, and guarded by more demons (or aliens?) than Grop had led them to believe. 

Angel’s head twisted up toward Grop, who was on the wall high above their heads to stay out of the way. Grop shrank contritely, so Judith guessed that Angel had looked up to glare at him.

The Doctor was still looking around the corner and after a long moment let out a pleased, “Ooh,” and then pulled his head back. “Angel!” he said in a loud whisper. “They _aren’t_ trying to break in.” 

“Then what are they trying to do?” Angel whispered back.

“I have no idea!” the Doctor beamed. “They have something interesting hooked up to the side of the TARDIS, though. I’d love to get a look at it.” He rubbed his palms together in delight.

“I can get you close,” Grop repeated quietly. “I’m supposed to turn you in. I can get you right up to the door.”

“And in return you get the credit and an in with Iral?” Angel guessed.

“Well...yes. Naturally.”

Angel nodded like that was completely fair. He leaned forward a few inches toward the Doctor. “I can come in behind you while they’re distracted. Take out several on this side before they even notice.”

The Doctor clicked his tongue. “Nicely,” he said. “Nicely as possible.” 

Angel twisted his neck back to look at Judith, now. The light was too dim for her to see his face, but she could hear the smirk in the way he repeated the words “nicely _as possible_ ” to her.

“I don’t know why you think I’m on _your_ side about violence,” she told him. 

“Oh yeah…” Angel said disappointedly. “I don’t know why, either.”

The Doctor twisted in the tight space and grinned at Judith. “I love it when people are on my side about violence,” he said, beaming at her. “Today is definitely turning around.” He turned his smile up at Grop and jerked his chin in a _lead the way_ motion, following after Grop as he leapt out over his head onto the main promenade. 

Judith moved forward to the edge of the building to see, squeezing in sideways next to Angel. Her back was to his chest and he rested a hand on Judith’s shoulder, perhaps to reassure her. Perhaps for some other reason. How would she know? With the new and unspoken-of turn in their relationship, Judith felt deeply aware of their close positioning and his touch; so much so that it was almost a distraction from the demon horde barely a dozen meters from them. Whatever his intention, Judith _did_ find Angel’s hand reassuring.

“I got him!” Grop cried out as he led the Doctor through the crowd of creatures, each a different form of grotesque. Some species Judith recognized from the Dragon’s Crown - a Kong-Gai, for instance - but most were frighteningly unknown. They parted for Grop and the Doctor until a giant (Judith had to blink to make sure she was seeing it correctly) silvery fish, beach-ball-round and with long, trailing fins, swam out from between two vampires and paused, floating in the air in front of the Doctor.

“I found the Time Lord and brought him!” Grop reported to the fish that was apparently named Iral.

“Hello,” the Doctor said, leaning toward the floating fish, “this is a real treat. Tell me, you’re floating using--”

_Silence._ A voice sounded in Judith’s head as clear as if it had been said into her ear. She shivered.

Angel’s hand on Judith’s shoulder gripped her reassuringly and then he let go, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “I’m going to see if I can get closer to the bigger goons.”

Judith suppressed a chuckle. _Goons_. She loved it when Angel used old-fashioned words like that.

He asked, “Will you be okay here?”

It took Judith a second to realize what Angel leaving meant. 

It meant he was _leaving_. Her, all alone. In a dark alley not too far from a - was it actually horde? Gathering? Murder? - of demons (or aliens) and a floating, psychic fish, who were all about to be attacked by Angel and thrown into chaos. Judith swallowed nervously.

“Just...keep an eye out,” Angel advised. “There could be more coming. Don’t come out of the alley unless you have to. If things get out of control, the safest place is inside the TARDIS.”

Judith nodded. “Sure,” she agreed, her mouth a bit dry. “If you think it’s alright…”

“I know a bunch of these guys,” Angel assured her. “Most of them will scatter when the going gets a little hard. They won’t want to stop and bother a human on their way out.”

Judith did feel a bit comforted at that, so she nodded again, shoulders relaxing. Angel placed a hand on one of her shoulders again and squeezed it with a firm yet gentle grip. Then he slipped past her and disappeared the way they’d come.

When he had gone, Judith peered cautiously out of the alley again to see what was going on.

Several of the creatures had shifted and now Judith could actually see the TARDIS; or a good bit of it, anyway. The ship practically glowed that rich blue, though it was probably the light from the lantern and streaming through the door windows, fading and brightening like gentle breath. It seemed small for a machine that purportedly did everything, and odd that an alien would choose such an obscure artifact to house their technology. Maybe that was the point? On the door she could also make out a silver box just above the keyhole with a screen and several buttons. A large power line ran out of the bottom of the box and snaked across the ground and disappeared between two game booths. 

_So you’re the pilot for this...ahh, it’s a ship,_ the voice continued in her head.The fish continued to float eerily in front of the Doctor, its round glassy eyes staring blankly at everything and nothing. 

The Doctor leaned back again, rocking onto his heels and casually tucking his hands into his pockets. “Why’d you steal a Police Box without knowing there was something else inside it?” he said. 

_Power cannot be hidden. This device tries to hide and by doing so reveals the power it contains._ “Ooh,” the Doctor said, pulling a hand out of his pocket and pointing at the box that was attached to the TARDIS, “you’re sensing the psychic field. You must be very sensitive to these things. And judging by the equipment you have there you’re...what? Trying to access that psychic field.” The Doctor let out a disappointed sigh. “Don’t be dull and say that you’re trying to ‘mind control the city.’” 

_With this, I could have the world!_ With a flick of its tail, Iral swam back toward the device. _Not just a few people at a time, but the whole world bent to my will_.

The Doctor groaned. “You could do that. But wouldn’t that make the world a tiny bit dull?” He started to step closer to Iral, but two large, green, spike-covered demons grabbed his arms above the elbow. He looked back at one of them, jerking at his arm uselessly before he turned back to the fish. “I mean, I’d hate living on a planet where everyone thought exactly like me. Charming as that sounds.” 

Judith thought she had to agree, but then, she’d never been particularly interested in amassing power, either. If power was the draw, diversity would be a threat.

_You’ll find it charming soon enough_ , the voice replied, and Judith shivered. She really didn’t like the sensation of anything being able to just...place words in her head. If that was going to be happening, she’d rather it did through books.

Two large demons prodded the Doctor closer to the TARDIS and Iral. He let out a noise of complaint, but shuffled closer like he was dealing with a rude usher instead of two spine-covered demons. “What I’m a bit curious about,” he said, “is why you’re looking for me. You have the psychic field, that device is clearly intended to amplify the field...you have your own abilities. I’m not exactly useful am I?”

_I’ll decide your usefulness,_ Iral said. The maliciousness came across clearly through Judith’s head. _Along with the usefulness of your friends._

A clawed hand wrapped itself around Judith’s arm and she sucked in a gasp of surprise. Before she had time to even struggle, she was pushed out into the open area of the promanade, right toward the murder (she thought murder fit better than horde) of demons.

What was she supposed to do? Struggle? Call for help? Go quietly? They were heading toward the Doctor - maybe she should go quietly until they got closer to him? Would he even notice, being preoccupied with the giant silvery fish? Could the fish hear all these questions in her head, as he claimed to know the Doctor’s thoughts?

Probably, but everyone was suddenly distracted as Angel was brought in from the other side, much less quietly. He was struggling in the grip of two giant grey demons with putty-smooth skin, one of which was limping with a knife still plunged deep in its meaty thigh. Angel’s arm was red with blood, but based on how he was trying to punch his captors with it, it seemed the blood wasn’t his. 

_Kill them._

“You might regret that,” the Doctor said quickly, for the first time with a hint of urgency in his voice. 

_Wait!_

Judith felt the tip of a knife at her back, sharp and present in a way that consumed most of her thoughts. She felt sweat gathering at her brow, despite the cold winter air.

Iral floated in front of the Doctor. _You’re hiding something..._

“Lots of things,” the Doctor said, “up to and including how if you kill my friends, you’re never going to get what you want.”

The fish flicked its tail and the Doctor winced like he’d been struck. “Okay, that’s a bit rude,” he complained. 

_I’ll sift your mind like a riverbed_.

The two demons holding Angel lumbered toward Judith and her captor, half-dragging Angel between them. Angel shot an oddly confident grin at Judith as they got nearer. “We’re getting out of this,” he assured her before the demon to his right kneed him in the gut. He coughed and spat. Judith heard a hint of a growl. 

The Doctor let out a yell, grimacing as Iral-- Well, Judith wasn’t sure what sifting a mind entailed, but it didn’t sound or look pleasant. Her heart pounded with fear. 

_There’s nothing wrong with my amplifier!_ the fish objected suddenly. 

The Doctor gasped out a laugh. “No, nothing wrong, but it’s not working is it? That’s because the TARDIS is protected. It’s not compatible with you even if you drain a whole power grid. And it’s not like you didn’t try.” 

_We’ve found a way around that. Bring him._

“I’m flattered,” the Doctor said as the demons around him pulled him closer to the TARDIS, “I mean, yes, you could theoretically use me as a power converter but it’ll probably burn out my brain and there’s a problem with your amplifier. If I could maybe just...” 

They shoved him against the blue wood. He patted the wood reassuringly. “I really think this would go a lot better for everyone if we just all went home,” he said. “Come on, put a stop to this. Open a nice little bed and breakfast--”

Demons stuck little nodes on the Doctor’s temples. 

_Turn it on,_ the fish ordered. 

Suddenly, Angel kicked against the ground, throwing his weight into the demon with a limp, knocking him over. Angel jerked his arm free from the other demon, bent and pulled out the knife protruding from the demon’s leg and then leapt toward Judith and the demon gripping her arm, which turned to protect itself. Its claws tightened and twisted painfully around her arm, but then Angel did something just beyond her sight and she heard a sickening _pop_ as she assumed some joint snapped. The hand and the knife that had been poking at her back fell away. Judith turned and saw the demon on the ground, cradling its broken-looking wrist.

The grey, putty-skinned mass of Angel’s stabbed guard made its way to its feet while the other, uninjured one took a single, lumbering step toward her. Or them, Judith thought with some relief as Angel stepped up next to her holding his knife at the ready. “Stay close to me,” he said in a low growl, as he and the two large demons sized each other up. “Remember what I said about the TARDIS.”

Judith nodded, and was about to reply when the air suddenly left her lungs. The atmosphere hummed with energy and she could feel several strands of her hair stand on end. Everyone’s eyes turned toward the TARDIS, the Doctor, and the floating fish. 

She expected to see the Doctor writhing in pain, but instead he stood with a hand in his pocket and a deep frown on his lips. 

Iral thrashed his tail. _Why isn’t it working? Hook it up correctly!_

“I told you there was a problem with your amplifier,” the Doctor said, he pointed at the box connected to the TARDIS. “It works in both directions.” The Doctor’s eyes flicked over the crowd, finding Angel. 

“Fuck,” Angel said, looking like he realized something. 

“Touch Judith’s head for me,” the Doctor said. 

_Stop him!_ The fish ordered. 

Demons surged forward and Angel grabbed Judith out of the way, his hand pulling her head protectively in toward his chest. 

And then her world dissolved into pain. 

Afterwards, when she would try to describe the experience, she would liken it to the time she had thought that she had lost William. It had the same sharp ache of loss, the shape of guilt, and yet a dull knowing in the back of her head that it just wasn’t true, which allowed her to make it through the experience. 

The street blurred in front of her eyes and for a moment she could have sworn that there were figures standing in front of her dressed in red and telling her...something. She couldn’t make out the words, but her emotional response was the same numb comprehension as when the police told her that the coroner had found the E.I. poison in Evie’s system, but mixed with a sharp realization that something was very very wrong and she knew exactly how to fix it, though she desperately wished she didn’t.

Judith was going to do something terrible. She had already done something terrible and she wasn’t sure if she could let Angel...no, that wasn’t right. Judith blinked and she could see again, but blurred from her own tears. Angel was holding her and whispering into her ear so softly she could barely hear it. She focused on his voice and could feel the alien emotions draining out of her, and as they did she realized that they truly not her own.

“You’re okay,” Angel was saying. “It’s okay. I will _kill_ him. I promise. You’re okay...”

She heard another voice talking and then felt more than heard Angel’s growled response. “She’s not going near that thing. What did you do to her?”

“It’s just a memory, Angel, I promise. She’ll be fine. You protected her from the worst of it. All she got was a few stray emotions...maybe an image or two. What you should be worried about is how all of _them_ are going to feel when they wake up.” 

Judith blinked the blurriness out of her eyes and looked around. She was sitting on the cold ground propped up in Angel’s arms, and, aside from Angel and the Doctor, was the only one conscious after the...whatever had just happened. Something black and hairy several feet away stirred and groaned. Judith sat up the rest of the way and then Angel helped her stand up. She felt slightly dizzy, but managed to stand on her own.

“Hello there,” the Doctor greeted her. “Feeling alright?” he winced. “Maybe that wasn’t the right phrasing...”

Judith was not entirely sure how to respond. She could not honestly say she felt “alright,” but she was sure she felt much better than the creatures scattered around them. Also, she seemed to be unhurt. Just a bit...shaken. Did that count as “alright”? The Doctor nervously rubbed his fingers together as he watched her with anticipation, and it didn’t help her make up her mind on the matter at all. 

“Perhaps we’ll take her in the TARDIS and just make sure,” the Doctor said. He snapped his fingers and Judith could hear the creak of a door somewhere to her right. 

Judith turned and the flimsy-looking wooden blue door of the TARDIS opened in slow motion before her eyes. Angel was saying something in protest, but all other sounds around Judith became suddenly muffled as she stared at that open door, mesmerized by its enticing beauty.

It was like the wardrobe opening to Narnia; the looking glass into Wonderland; the barrier to Platform 9 ¾; and eerily, the Gingerbread House. The TARDIS was dark inside, and the wild imagination innate to all children woke up inside her. Instead of black emptiness, she saw entire worlds of possibilities. Judith stepped away from Angel and the Doctor. Between herself and the TARDIS was a sea of twitching, stirring monsters, like choppy ocean waves before a storm.

She could make it.

She stepped over the thick, grey leg that still oozed blood from Angel’s knife wound and around another demon with spider-like legs. A tentacle inched toward her, but she was soon out of reach. The open door loomed closer.

And then she noticed the guard - the one with the spikey back that had been holding the Doctor - also pulling its way across the ground toward the door. It was closer; it would make it there first. Judith glanced behind her: Angel and the Doctor were still arguing.

“--not going in there,” Angel said firmly.

Clearly, they would be no help at all. Judith turned back to the spikey guard and watched it grasp toward the open TARDIS, and a sudden sense of fierce protectiveness that she was sure could not be all her own overcame her. How long did the side-effects of the Doctor’s memories last? She looked at the ground around her, picked up a club-like stick from one of the unconscious creatures, and hurled it with all her might at the guard.

She missed.

But she did make a tremendous clatter that woke up several of the other creatures around her and interrupted whatever speech the Doctor had been making moments before.

“Judith!” both the Doctor and Angel shouted behind her, but it was far too late for that. Judith was already springing across the pavement, dodging between the twitching limbs of the creatures. Hadn’t Angel told her to hide in the TARDIS if things got bad? All of those monsters waking up surely qualified. 

The guard had made it to its hands and knees. Judith stooped to pick up a fallen helmet, took aim, and threw again. This time, it hit right on target, and though it only served to distract the guard, it was enough. She slipped inside the TARDIS and did the next logical thing she could think of: she closed the door and locked it.

Judith took a moment to breathe several calming breaths. It was eerily quiet and dark in there. She’d expected to be able to hear what was happening through the thin exterior, but the silence was so complete she wondered if she were somehow already in space.

Judith slowly turned around. Her jaw dropped open. Judith had the sudden urge to go back outside into the stirring fray just to make sure she’d seen the outside correctly because inside, it was _huge_. Judith stepped forward.

It was not nearly as dark as it had first seemed. Softly glowing lights were scattered across various surfaces, including a few of the walls, but most were concentrated around a column on an elevated platform in the center of the room. Judith made her way toward it cautiously.

The lights seemed to grow brighter as she approached the center column, highlighting the greens displayed throughout the room. When she placed her foot on the first step, the whole place hummed to life. Literally. A humming noise came from the direction of the column and Judith could see more glass moving inside of it like lungs rhythmically pumping air in...and out. And in again...and back out. 

Judith watched the glass slide up and down as she approached what she guessed must be a control panel. The buttons and levers and dials and wheels and screens and blinking lights seemed to be installed haphazardly onto the sloped desk. All of them practically begged to be touched. 

This was the point where Judith almost came back to her senses. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her practical self told her to ask what everything did before she started pushing buttons. That reminded her that she had left the Doctor (who was the only person she knew would know) and Angel outside with several dozen very groggy, but upset monsters. 

A screen to Judith’s right flickered and she jumped slightly. It was a very old-looking screen, judging by the thickness and picture quality, but as she moved closer she could see exactly what it was trying to show her: the chaos going on outside.

Something screamed and Judith herself let out a cry of shock at the sudden noise. She clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at the screen. Most of the monsters had woken up and Angel and the Doctor were practically lost in the mob. Shouts and yells echoed through the room, along with thuds of fist on flesh, and an odd electronic squealing noise that she was sure could not be helping at all.

The TARDIS doors shuddered with a sudden collision and she jumped again. She needed to do _something_.

“Doctor!” Angel cried. Judith jumped again and moved closer to the screen, squinting. She could see Angel in a small clearing of unconscious bodies around him. In one movement, he ripped one of the spikes off of the guard’s back and hurled it into a huge creature which, when it fell, revealed a very surprised and only somewhat relieved Doctor.

Judith felt a bit nauseous and she looked away at the controls. The rim around a blue sphere half-buried in the console glowed and she took that as a sign. She gently reached out a hand, touched the sphere, and spun it. It spun much faster than it should have. A lever to her left then glowed green and she pulled it. There was a _ding_ to her right and she turned. Her historian’s heart skipped a beat and she made her way reverently over to the golden typewriter. She did the only logical thing she could think of, given the circumstances and the way the night was going. She typed,

_Help Angel and the Doctor._

The whole room shook. A metallic grating noise drowned out the sounds of the battle going on outside and when Judith hurried back to the screen to see what was happening, she found it blank except for a series of broken circular symbols. 

The room lurched, sending Judith stumbling into a railing. She grabbed hold of the metal and hung on for dear life. 

This was why she typically didn’t do things without reading the directions first. What _had_ gotten into her lately?

Judith managed to keep her footing until the final lurch, which threw her back against the console and into the spinning sphere. She barely had enough time to wonder if that was a bad thing when everything stopped. The silence resumed. The floor felt as solid as earth. She looked around. Nothing moved, except for the illegible symbols shifting across the screen.

It took an extra moment for Judith to realize what she needed to do.

“Angel,” she whispered, and hurried down the stairs and to the TARDIS door. 

She reached for the lock, but just before her fingers touched it, the lock turned itself. Or, she realized, someone on the other side turned it. She took a quick step away from the door, unsure what was going to come through it. 

The door swung inward, revealing the Doctor. “Well,” he said, “Angel did try to warn me that you’d steal my TARDIS.”


	2. Moving Day

“ _Doctor_!” Angel cried from his small clearing of unconscious bodies. He would never reach him in time from there. The towering monster lunging for the Doctor would slash him with its outstretched claws before the Doctor could even turn around.

How entire species survived without vampire reflexes, Angel would never know.

The Doctor began to turn, the alarmed expression just starting to register as Angel tore a spike off the back of a nearby body and hurled it as hard as he could. It spun past the Doctor’s face, missing by several inches, and lodged deep into the belly of the Pryan. The dark blue ooze of the heart seeped out and the creature fell.

The Doctor’s face shifted through several emotions so quickly that they were barely recognizable. Leaping over the body of the Pryan, he tripped, hopped, and stepped his way into the clearing that Angel had created. “How did we end up doing this your way?” he shouted over the scream of one of the monsters. “And why is your girlfriend stealing my TARDIS?”

“She’s not--” Angel started, but froze mid-sentence to snap the neck of a red something-or-other (Angel didn’t bother to look very closely). He didn’t get to finish what he was going to say because at the moment, the whirring, grinding noise of the TARDIS’s initiation sequence thrummed to life.

“Oh! That’s my cue!” The Doctor threw up his hands like he’d just realized that he was late and going to miss the bus and dashed off, weaving his way through the groggy monsters in a way that came off as much too graceful considering the amount of arm-waving that was involved. Grabbing one last monster by the shoulders and spinning him around so that they switched places, the Doctor mumbled a quick apology and stepped back into the spot where the TARDIS had been not a second before.

“Judith!” Angel yelled, leaping over bodies as he also dashed to the spot where the Doctor stood. The last notes of the TARDIS faded away and Angel immediately rounded on the Doctor, grabbing his shoulders.

“Where’d she go?” he demanded. He shoved a demon away so hard that its head cracked against the pavement when it fell.

“Where’d she go?” the Doctor repeated indignantly. “That’s what _I’d_ like to know. Now let go and hush before you ruin my brilliant plan to get us out of here alive.” He twisted out of Angel’s grasp and dropped to the ground, plucking the device that had previously been hooked up to the TARDIS doors from the pavement.

Angel glared at the slew of monsters before them. “Surviving really isn’t going to be a problem,” he muttered, tightening his hands into fists. He stepped into the fray.

Angel’s mind went peacefully blank, as it always did in the face of so much violence. He saw rather than felt his knuckles against heads, his boots against chests, his fingers around necks. At one point, he looked down and noticed a twisted horn deep in his gut and pulled it out, sticking it into the eye of a Sackren before moving on. He had no idea what the Doctor was doing - he’d forgotten that he was there at all - until the Doctor had already done it.

“STOP!” the Doctor shouted. Angel realized that he had been speaking before, but didn’t know what about exactly. He snapped the neck of another demon before he realized that everything else had stopped. Someone grabbed the back of his shirt collar and he spun around to throw a punch at his attacker, but realized at the last second that it was the Doctor. His fist stopped just short of the Doctor’s nose.

“Thank you,” the Doctor said genially, giving Angel and his blood-covered fist a small smile before he turned to the rest of the crowd. “Now, as I was explaining, you might all want to stop because I have your nice, little, psycho-amplifier. That, might I remind you, you have been working near, and have probably at least partially linked to with your own brains.” The Doctor wiggled the box at the surrounding monsters. “Who here paid attention in school and can tell me what that means?”

Angel sure didn’t know what the Doctor was talking about, but about half of the monsters took a wary step back.

“No one wants to volunteer?” the Doctor gave the crowd a disappointed look, like a professor who found out that none of his students had done their homework for the entire semester. “It means that I have a free, all-access pass to your minds,” he said cheerfully. “Now I know you all signed up to be minions or henchmen or toadies or, well, you get the idea. But who here wants to keep their free will?”

Angel took an almost unconscious step back behind the Doctor.

Several demons toward the back of the crowd dropped their weapons and ran, quickly followed by the other demons who had already started to back up. The Doctor grinned at the remaining monsters and reached a hand back to grab Angel by the arm. He tugged Angel out to stand next to him. “As for the bottom of the class,” the Doctor called, “I am _not_ joking, and if I am you still have to fight your way through my happily blood-soaked friend here to get to me; all over a box that is no longer here. _Try_ to think this through.” The Doctor elbowed Angel in the side and whispered, “Look threatening.”

Angel honestly didn’t think he had to try very hard. Or at all.

“I’m getting impatient,” the Doctor cautioned, theatrically pressing several buttons on the device, “and Angel gets bored easily.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on, there’s a football game on in an hour you could watch instead.”

The crowd was quickly dwindling, leaving about three very large and incredibly stupid-looking monsters and an additional one that Angel suspected was so terrified it couldn’t run.

Feeling began to return to Angel’s body. That is, excruciating pain began to return to his body. Angel found that if he squeezed his fists hard enough, the blood would drip through his fingers. Angel made the executive decision that time was up. He needed to move. He stepped forward.

Every one of the creatures scattered, leaving Angel and the Doctor in a deadly-quiet street with piles of corpses around them.

Angel sighed. “Damn.”

The Doctor looped a supporting arm around Angel. “Can you walk?” he asked, leaning slightly to look at the wound in Angel’s gut. “Angel, how much of this is yours?”

Angel glanced down. “The blue stuff isn’t mine. I don’t think the pink stuff is. The red...debateable. The pain...all mine.” Angel bent over to relieve some of it. It never really helped, but he felt like it could have.

“Okay,” the Doctor said, in a quick but calm voice, “okay, we’re going to get you out of here...”

Making sure Angel wouldn’t fall over before he let go, the Doctor moved around the promenade and picked up several more sections of the device that lay on the ground and tucked them all into his pockets. He pointed the sonic screwdriver at the spot where the TARDIS had been and it screeched for several seconds before he flipped it up, reading something off of the side, and then tucked it back in his pocket.

“Okay,” he said again, returning to Angel’s side, “we need a place to go, Angel.”

“Judith,” Angel choked out through the increasing pain.

“I’ll get her back,” the Doctor assured him. “I promise, but for _now_ she is safe on the TARDIS. If you pass out on the street here, who’s going to protect me from all of the monsters so I can do that, huh?”

Part of Angel wanted to protest about the safety of the TARDIS. After all, it had once tried to kill him. But it had admittedly had a reason and the pain won out; he nodded reluctantly. Angel straightened up again.

“My place,” he said with much effort. “It’s not... _too_ far.”

“Your place!” the Doctor agreed enthusiastically. “I’d love to see your place. Come on, then, tell me where you’re going...” The Doctor ducked his head so Angel could drape an arm around his neck and they started off down the promenade.

“North,” Angel said, trying not to grip the Doctor’s shoulder too hard as he hobbled along.

“We’re heading south,” the Doctor pointed out. Galway Bay was only about a hundred meters in front of them.

Angel, of course, was aware of that, but they had to head south to go along the docks, back the way they’d come earlier. “We could go north,” Angel said with much difficulty, “if you can cut through the fence. Me, I thought the gate would be easier.”

“Yes, probably,” the Doctor replied cheerfully.

Personally, Angel saw nothing to be cheerful about. He was leaving blood like a stream behind him, much of it from the hole in his torso that he probably could have easily shoved three fingers into. Judith and the TARDIS were gone, and Judith didn’t know how to steer the psycho-killer ship. That would have been bad enough on a normal ship in the middle of the ocean, but this was a time and space ship: Judith could not only be any _where_ , but any _when_. And if the TARDIS was sentient enough to hold grudges against Angel, it was sentient enough to hold grudges against people close to Angel, too.

An entirely different kind of pain knotted Angel’s stomach.

He pressed his free hand against the wound to try to stop the blood flow and winced at how sharp and hot the pain shot through him.

“This brings back memories,” Angel said in a voice so tightly strained it sounded like it might break.

“Does it?” the Doctor asked. “Perhaps you shouldn’t get impaled so often, then. I can’t imagine it’s good for your health…”

“No,” Angel said. “This.” He gripped the Doctor’s shoulder a bit tighter. “Last time you were here.” Angel paused, partly because breathing in air in order to speak was painful, and partly because he realized the correction he had to make. “Last time for me, not you.”

“I remember,” the Doctor said. “Kom and Tinik.”

Angel took a moment to be impressed that the Doctor remembered their names after dying and regenerating twice since then.

“I broke my leg,” Angel said. “ _Kom_ broke my leg. You had to help me to the pub.”

Letting out a little laugh, the Doctor nodded. “And then you came after me anyway. If you were so keen on coming, you could have mentioned it.”

“Actually, I was just glad someone else was taking care of the problem,” Angel replied. “Then I realized your ass probably needed to be saved and that annoying urge to be a hero I’d been trying to bury came out and that’s why I came after you.”

“I hoped you might,” the Doctor said. They limped a few more steps and then he added, “I don’t think I knew it at the time, but I did.”

“Why?” Angel half-chuckled, “Because it’s always good to have a lame vampire fighting on your side?”

“I needed a friend,” the Doctor said simply. “Look! Here’s the gate. We’re doing good.”

“You know what’s also good that’s at the gate? A tram stop.” Angel winced. “I say we walk as little as possible.”

“I do like the bus!” the Doctor said agreeably. They limped onward, slowly making their way back along the empty pier.

Angel had meant it as a joke, given his bloodsoaked state. So when a few painful minutes later Angel found himself blinking first at the waiting (and half-full) tram and then at the pleased-looking Doctor, he had a hard time processing that the public transit was actually the plan.

The Doctor entered the tram, grinning and nodding to everyone on board. Several people moved down a few seats. One short-haired man bravely asked, “What is that?”

Looking around like he needed to locate whatever strange thing was happening to respond, the Doctor’s eyes finally landed on Angel in all of his blood-soaked glory. “Oh!” he laughed. “We’re making a monster movie! You should all come see it once it’s finished. I think it’ll be great! I mean, look at all the blood. The fake blood that I’ve dumped on my --” the Doctor looked at Angel appraisingly, “drunk friend.”

“A movie?” The man’s eyebrow raised in interest and he turned in his seat as the Doctor helped Angel sit down on the edge, trying to get as little blood everywhere as possible. “Say, you’re not looking for more actors, are you? I’ll even do extra work. Here--” He spun around, digging in the bag on the seat beside him. When he twisted back to face them, he held out a small computer chip. “My portfolio and headshots,” he said. “No obligation! Just in case.”

Delighted, the Doctor took the chip and turned to show it to Angel like he’d won a prize. Angel nodded back, feeling a bit sick as the tram started to move, and did his best to look less pained.

“So tell me about this movie,” the man continued. “What’s your budget? Are you the director? _Have_ you done all the casting yet?”

“Well,” the Doctor said, turning back. “I don’t know about all that, but it’s a _great_ story. It’s about these two aliens who end up in Ireland on a mission of revenge...” For the rest of the tram ride, the Doctor recounted his and Angel’s adventure with Kom and Tinik, acting out bits and gesturing so wildly that he nearly fell over as they went around the final turn onto Angel’s street. He was just about to retell the fight in the woods when Angel reached out and tugged on his jacket.

“Doctor,” he said.

“...he pounced!” the Doctor continued. “This is our stop,” Angel said.

The Doctor turned and looked at Angel like he’d forgotten he was there. “Oh,” he said, his face drooping with disappointment. “We’ll, you’ll have to wait to learn the end!” he told everyone. He gave a final wave and helped Angel down from the tram.

“That was fun,” the Doctor said as the tram drove away. “Now what?”

“This way,” Angel said, lifting his hand part way to point. “Somewhat ironically, away from the hospital…” Angel lived right across the street from Galvia hospital, both conveniently and intentionally from where he got his blood.

Nodding away the remains of his movie-producer act, the Doctor adjusted his grip on Angel and they turned away from the hospital, headed for the front door of Angel’s apartment building. Angel barely remembered getting through the door and even less about the lift ride up to his floor. He suddenly found himself looking down his own hallway with the Doctor asking for his room number in a tone that suggested he’d asked several times already.

“212,” Angel finally said. “Right there.” When they reached the door, Angel pressed a bloody finger against the keypad and the lock clicked open.

“Wonderful! Here we are, we’ll get you patched up in no time. That looks like a kitchen so I’m going to guess the bathroom is...this way.”

“That’s the library,” Angel said. “Bathroom’s in there. Through the bedroom.” He started to lead the way forward, but the Doctor soon took the lead again.

“I was close,” the Doctor said as they went, “and I love that you have a library. Is your med kit in the bathroom? I’ve said it before, there isn’t a single place that isn’t improved with a library. Even a little one. How much of a problem is infection for you, by the way? Do I need to start panicking about cleaning out the wounds?”

Angel let his arm slide off the Doctor’s shoulder as they reached the bathroom and he leaned heavily against the sink. “A good shower should do it,” he said. “Dead flesh doesn’t exactly attract infection.” He took a deep breath, straightened up, and began undoing the buttons on his shirt to assess the damage.

“Good. I don’t like to have to panic,” the Doctor said, opening drawers until he located Angel’s supply of bandages. “Why’d you have to go and get yourself stabbed anyway, Angel?”

Gingerly peeling back his blood-soaked shirt, Angel stared at the gaping, oozing hole in his gut. The twist in the horn had done more damage than usual. “I never try to,” he replied. “It just kind of...happens. Will you turn on the water?”

The Doctor jerked back into motion from where he had paused, staring at Angel’s wound. He strode over to the shower after a few seconds of twitching his fingers near the controls, turned on the water. “Right, rinse off and if you pass out in the shower, don’t say anything, just make a loud thumping noise and I’ll come help. How’s that sound?”

Angel gave the Doctor a look. After a moment, he said, “I won’t pass out.” He winced with each motion of taking his shirt off. “Blood loss doesn’t affect me like that.” He winced again.

“Really?” the Doctor asked, helping Angel pull the shirt off without bothering to ask. “I figured blood loss would bother you more than most.”

“After a while I go insane,” Angel replied, now attempting to pull out of his shoes without bending over. “But I won’t faint. Unfortunately.” He gave a half-yell as he managed to get one shoe off with excruciating pain and began contemplating showering half-dressed.

The Doctor, who had been slowly turning around the bathroom holding the blood-soaked shirt as far away from himself as possible, deposited the shirt in the sink for safekeeping before turning back to Angel. He crouched to untie his other shoe. “Pick your foot up,” he said, waving for Angel to lift his foot until he had enough room to work the other shoe off and, after a second’s consideration, peeled the sock off too. “And the other one...”

“Thanks,” Angel said through another deep breath, “It didn’t go all the way through, did it?”

“If it did, it wasn’t much,” the Doctor said, tossing both of the socks in the garbage. “Get rinsed off and we’ll reassess.”

Angel nodded and thanked the Doctor again. He turned and hobbled toward the shower, but then he stopped. “Doctor...do you think you could do me one more favor?”

The Doctor paused in the doorway, glancing back, “Yes?”

Angel hesitated and then looked over his shoulder. “Heat up some blood for me? It helps the...regeneration process...”

The Doctor nodded. “Of course,” he said, and left, pulling the door closed behind him.

~~~~~

The Doctor loved being in other people’s houses. While he had traveled long and far and wide he found that actually making it into someone’s home was a rare treat. The universe was, in many ways, his: the shops and the markets, the alleys and the broadways, the rising towers and the tiny huts, the caves, the forests, the mountains, and, above all, the stars.

But not this.

He thought about it briefly as he stepped out into Angel’s living room, tugging the bedroom door partly closed behind him. While he did not strictly require an invitation the way Angel did, it was nice to get one and in the spinning, wonderful rush that he rode through life on he tended to miss out on invitations. When he did get an invitation it always took him by surprise - often to the point where everything else came crashing down around him, like a juggler suddenly having an 11th ball tossed at him. In his panic he often just dodged the extra ball rather than try to work it into the act.

But he loved this: seeing the collection of things, most of them common, but when compiled together form a physical representation of a person. It was almost as good as sitting on a bus and having a chat with someone. Better, even, since there wasn’t that weird bus smell to contend with. _And_ , the Doctor’s fingers twitched in anticipation, Angel had asked him to do something, which was about the same as giving him free reign to snoop.

Kitchen first, of course. The Doctor found that easily enough. The flat was small and it only took a few strides to reach it. Blood would be in the refrigerator, and it turned out to be just about the only thing. Boring in a completely logical sort of way. There was a bit of milk, however, that had passed the expiration date but had not actually gone sour yet. Friends, the Doctor concluded, but only for tea.

The stove was remarkable to the point where the Doctor made a mental note to actually remark on it later. It was downright anachronistic. The Doctor, on an impulse, decided that it was anachronistic in the best possible way and that he loved that Angel had an old-fashioned stove. He lit it and went in search of a saucepan, which he found after opening a disappointingly small number of cabinets. Setting the saucepan over the flame, he picked up the bag of blood and considered it. Putting it directly into the pot seemed...messy. And he didn’t like the idea of having to stir it and then it would burn to the sides and that would smell terrible.

He dropped the bag back on the counter and snatched the saucepan off of the stove and filled it with water, noting the wonderfully specific temperature of water that the taps provided in this century. Pot of water goes on the stove. Bag of blood goes in the water. A few short calculations involving the simplest of thermodynamics later, and the Doctor knew he had six minutes and 37 seconds until the blood hit human-normal temperature. Easy. Nothing to do but open more cabinets, just to check for...well, he’d think of what he was checking for later. If he had to. Maybe.

Four minutes and 12 seconds later, the Doctor was sure that he was not looking for glassware, as Angel had glassware in abundance, ranging from mugs to champagne glasses and back down to a tiny set of shot glasses. The Doctor chose a mug, as it seemed like it was the best option for holding heat and because it was a lovely shade of blue that was not quite TARDIS blue.

He set the mug on the counter. He stuck his head out the the kitchen and listened to the shower, which was still running. He listened to the uneven sound of water hitting the floor that indicated that Angel was up and moving and definitely not passed out. Moving back into the kitchen, he turned the heat down on the stove, which readjusted the time out another two minutes and 25 seconds, give or take.

And then he had nothing to do.

So he opened more drawers to discover that, for a vampire, Angel had a really boring kitchen. Blood aside. And even that was boring, since the Doctor had been expecting it. All of the drawers were organized, not in the hard way of someone who liked order a bit too much, but in the way of a place that had been long inhabited. The commonly used items had found their way closest to the things that they related to and the less used items (in Angel’s case this included things like forks and plates) had been relocated over the years to the deepest, darkest corners of the kitchen.

 _Stable,_ the Doctor thought. In spite of his existence on the fringe of humanity, Angel leaned toward stability. When life and the universe had taken away much of Angel’s choices, he had proceeded to carve out this little section of the world that was his and filled it with things that he chose, like stoves from the wrong century. Consistency had been vigilantly added to his life until… The Doctor closed the last drawer in the row, unsure of what it was that the stability provided. He could guess, but it was the opposite path from the one his own life was on. When his life had lost all sense of order, the Doctor had chosen to grab the chaos by the hand and shake it firmly until they were friends.

More or less friends anyway. The Doctor leaned his head against the wall, listening again to make sure that Angel was still in the shower. Angel was, and the Doctor let himself breathe out a long, tired breath and lean more of his weight against the wall.

He stayed there feeling old and tired for longer than he normally allowed himself to. Pressing his head harder against the wall he told himself that Angel was fine, that Judith was...probably fine. He took the image of Angel covered from head to toe in blood and looking positively serene and locked it in a box of logic and nestled it amongst several other very similar boxes in the back of his mind behind a sign that read, “Do not think about this too hard.” It left him with a nagging sense of worry.

“You’re fine,” the Doctor told himself out loud. He gave it a moment to settle in and then forced himself to stand up and go turn off the stove. The blood was probably a bit above human-normal now, but that would make up for cooling off while it waited for Angel.

He didn’t really feel fine at all. It was perfectly reasonable, what with his friend having a hole in him that had to be a full 8 centimeters across. The Doctor had never really liked blood when it was anywhere but inside of people and he certainly didn’t like it oozing out of gaping wounds. Certainly not like Angel liked inflicting giant, gaping wounds on what the Doctor had to admit were probably some not-very-nice monsters.

He put that thought back on the shelf with an uncomfortable shiver.

No, it wasn’t the thought...it was the kitchen. Something about Angel’s kitchen made him uncomfortable. The Doctor turned around, eyeing the cabinets, searching for something wrong, for something off. Nothing looked wrong, so he listened and found nothing but the _hum_ of electricity from all of the right places. He ran his finger along the counter and then licked his finger: blood, cleaning supplies, sugar...icky, icky, why did he do that? Time was slow here, but moving. The antique appliances and consistency of the place clung to the time like a finish. Psychic energy seemed...normal.

Normal. Normal. Boringly expectedly normal...and wrong somehow.

The Doctor paced across the floor a few times waiting for whatever it was to click in his mind. It would come and in the meantime he loved a good mystery. Pausing on the spot a little inside the doorway that made his instincts crawl and his hair stand on end, the Doctor leaned down and extended every sense he had. He reached out his left hand slowly to touch the tile floor...

The water turned off in the bathroom and the Doctor leapt up. He tugged his jacket into place and tried to look innocent. A moment later he realized that he might be a bit jumpy. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, checked that his smile was firmly in place and went to get Angel his mug.

~~~~~

Angel emerged from the bedroom, clean and half-dressed with a shirt slung over his arm, a package of bandages in one hand and a washcloth in the other, which he pressed as hard as he could stand against his wound. It was still seeping blood, which told Angel that it was worse than normal. He sat down on the apothecary table with a groan and set the shirt and bandages beside him.

“ _Where_ did you get a gas stove in this time period?” the Doctor asked, sounding slightly indignant as he shoved a mug into Angel’s free hand. “Better yet, who is supplying you with gas? Give me that, no, you take the mug. Stop trying to help. I know what I’m doing. I’m the Doctor.” The Doctor took over holding the washcloth over the wound and waved Angel’s hand away.

Angel, unsure and unwilling to decide which of the Doctor’s remarks to reply to, simply took the mug and drank from it instead. Angel should have guessed that the Doctor would have known (and figured out how) to heat the blood to human body temperature, but it still surprised him.

It didn’t seem like the Doctor had been expecting much of a reply anyway, or at least he didn’t repeat the questions when they went unanswered. Instead, he went right on asking new questions or making odd statements as he tended Angel’s wounds. Did Angel bleed more just after eating? He liked the wood, the TARDIS interior had been mostly wood at one point. Did Angel have any of the skin glue that they made these days? At this last question the Doctor did peer up from his work to look at Angel expectantly.

Angel made a bit of a face. “I’ll be fine,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder as far as he comfortably could. “It didn’t go all the way through, did it?” he asked again, since it was easier to see now that he was clean.

“It didn’t go all the way through,” the Doctor assured him. “Not that you should try it again. There are very few things this wouldn’t have killed, Angel.” The Doctor let that comment hang as he started wrapping Angel’s chest in bandages. “You didn’t have to go taking on a whole army by yourself.”

Angel sighed. “Yes I did. I’ve taken on more in worse moods. It...helps.”

“It does not,” the Doctor said, still intent on wrapping. “It gets you hurt and I--” he paused and took a breath. “Lift your arm a bit,” he said instead of finishing his previous sentence.

“The pain gives me something else to focus on until I can make my next move,” Angel said, flinching at the pressure of the Doctor’s hands against the bandages. “I can deal with physical wounds. I’ve had a lot in my time. It...” but Angel paused and, like the Doctor, let out a deep breath instead of finishing his thought.

“It’s familiar,” the Doctor guessed at finishing Angel’s sentence for him.

Angel shifted slightly. That wasn’t what he was going to say, but it was true, so he said, “Yeah.”

Angel’s state of mind when he was in intense physical pain was similar to intoxication. His mind was more focused than with alcohol, but a little less clear and certainly less inhibited by his social surroundings. He was just as likely to react with violence as he was with calm rationale - it all depended on which impulse struck first. That must have been why he suddenly found himself adding softly, “It helps me deal with other kinds of pain. It’s more concrete.”

The Doctor finished taping off Angel’s bandages. Several seconds of silence passed as he checked to make sure that they were secure and then he backed away. “I will get her back,” he said, his voice just as slow and deliberate as his hands had been moments before. He leaned forward slightly, looking Angel in the eye. “I promise.”

Angel swallowed and did not break eye contact. “Are you done with the bandages?” he asked.

“Ish,” the Doctor said, pacing a few steps to the side to get a better look at a gash on Angel’s arm. “The other wounds are closing up fast enough to make bandages seem....” He reached out a hand, almost touching the wound on Angel’s arm and then quickly pulling it back again. “ ...Excessive.”

Angel took a deep breath and pushed it out as he stood up; the muscles around his wound burned so sharply he nearly gave a half-yell, but he managed to keep it in and stand without support. “Okay,” he said after he’d caught his breath. “So let’s go find her.”

“Right! Of course,” the Doctor agreed. He spun on his heel and made for the door. A few steps later, he turned back to Angel, his fingers twirling nervously in front of him. “The thing is...” he said.

“No,” Angel interrupted sharply, pointing a finger at the Doctor’s chest. “There is no _‘thing_.’ We’re going to find her and bring her back. You said so.”

“We are!” the Doctor agreed quickly. “But, Angel...it’s going to take a bit of time.”

Angel couldn’t help the low growl that rumbled deep in his throat. He tried to stay calm, but the corkscrew turn his night had taken was becoming just a bit too much for the part of him that liked consistency and predictability. He could deal with things that happened suddenly, but mostly because they tended to end quickly and he could resume his normal, quiet life. But the suddenness of the Doctor’s arrival that evening hadn’t slowed down yet, and Angel had planned to (probably) end the night with Judith at his flat-- _not_ with the Doctor at his flat, a gaping hole in his abdomen, and without a clue as to where Judith was.

Angel did not like change.

He narrowed his eyes at the Doctor, both daring and demanding for him to continue.

The Doctor hesitated, seemingly picking up on both the dare and the demand. He shifted his weight a bit and then took the dare.

“The TARDIS made a jump. That is obvious. Now what we can’t do is go running out into the streets and calling her name.” The Doctor waved his hand at the windows behind Angel. “Well, we _could_ but she probably is well beyond hearing us at this point in time. We need to find out _when_ she showed up.”

Angel crossed his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly to show that he was listening, but impatiently.

“So we’re...uh,” the Doctor shifted. He didn’t look like he’d actually thought out the explanation this far and had been counting on Angel to interrupt before he got to this point. “We’re going to measure the...it’s like echoes. Or ripples. Do you know how sonar works?”

Angel nodded curtly.

“It’s not actually like that but...” the Doctor grinned and took an excited step forward, “but it _is_ close. Picture sonar....”

“Doctor,” Angel interrupted. “Just do whatever you need to do. I don’t care what it’s like.”

“I already did.”

Angel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You-- You did. Okay, and...?”

“And now we have to wait at least twenty-four hours and I’ll take another measurement.” The Doctor pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and displayed it to Angel as evidence of his active problem-solving.

“Twenty-four hours?” Angel let out the growl again. “That’s not good enough. We have no idea where she is and I am not just going to sit around and let her stay lost for twenty-four hours.”

The Doctor pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It’s a TARDIS, Angel. It travels in time. For all we know, she’s twenty-four years from now.”

Angel’s fists tightened, but he took a deep breath to calm himself. “That’s not helping, Doctor. She could _also_ be twenty-four _million_ years in the past, running into dinosaurs. Or a thousand years in the past, running into Genghis Khan’s army. Or three hundred years in the past, running into _me_. Do you see why I can’t just sit back and do nothing?”

The Doctor quickly stopped his enthusiastic nodding at all the adventures that Angel had been listing. “That would be...bad.”

Angel punched him. He winced a bit at the pain from his wound with the sudden movement, but it was completely worth it. The Doctor spun all the way around from the impact and collapsed onto the floor where he stayed, rubbing his jaw.

“Not that she’s going to get a chance to do any of that...ow, Angel. Every time, honestly.”

Angel frowned and stepped carefully around the Doctor to stand by his head. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Why won’t she get the chance?”

“Because we’ll find her before she gets a chance,” the Doctor said with a sigh. He touched his lip and then looked at his fingers. “I’m not bleeding am I? Listen, if we take the correct measurements we can sort out a way to jump directly to whenever she ended up and drag her back home before she has any fun.”

Angel narrowed his eyes again at the Doctor. He wasn’t sure he entirely understood, but he was fairly certain he didn’t need to, as long as he got the Doctor’s word that they would reach Judith before she stepped out to explore wherever she landed. “We can do that?” he asked.

“Sure,” the Doctor said in a less than comforting, _why not?_ sort of tone.

Angel knelt down and drew back his fist again.

The Doctor held up his hands. “Yes, definitely!” he said, scooching away from Angel as best he could. “Or I might get the TARDIS to come to us, but that’s pretty much the same, right?”

Angel lowered his fist slowly. He opened his hand and held it out to the Doctor. “Do it now.”

The Doctor took his hand and held onto it. “Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but what exactly do you want me to ‘do now’?”

Angel gripped the Doctor’s hand a little too tightly and stood up with a groan, pulling the Doctor with him. He nearly wasn’t able to do it with the blinding pain in his stomach as his muscles tightened. “What you just said,” Angel answered, trying to contain the agony, tightening his hold on the Doctor’s hand with the effort. “Call the TARDIS here.”

Wincing at Angel’s grip, the Doctor said, “Great. Perfect. I’ll just set up a bit first.” The Doctor pointed to the apothecary table, taking a few hesitant steps in its direction.

Angel let go of the Doctor’s hand and watched him carefully. Once the Doctor seemed sure that Angel wasn’t going to punch him again, he wandered over to the table and pulled the device he had retrieved off of the street from his pocket. He set it and several other gadgets from his pocket on the table. Picking up the main piece, the Doctor looked at it for a few seconds and then said, without looking up, “What sort of tools do you have?”

Without a word, Angel went into his bedroom to fetch his (rather small) box of basic tools from his closet. When he returned, he held it out to the Doctor.

The Doctor took it without so much as a nod at Angel. Setting it on the table, the Doctor gave it a cursory glance before he pulled his own sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and set to work.

Angel crossed his arms over his chest again and watched the Doctor. Angel watched for a very long time, mostly without moving and without comment. The Doctor even glanced at Angel once with a somewhat impressed expression. The night aged slowly but steadily and Angel waited with all the innate patience of a 450-year-old creature that depends on stalking for prey for survival. It was about an hour from sunrise before anything interesting happened.

The Doctor shook the tiny device next to his ear, listening. Then he set it on the table, tugged the hammer from Angel’s toolbox and gave the whole thing a solid knock. It hummed and sparked.

“There you are,” the Doctor said, smiling at the device like it was a toddler awakening from a nap. “Now, you are going to help me find the Old Girl aren’t you? Yes, you are.” The Doctor picked the device up and placed a gentle kiss on the top of it. Electricity ached between the device and the Doctor’s lips. He jumped, but only slightly, like he’d been expecting it. “There you are, have a bit of me to go on now.”

Angel let out an audible sigh. He knew better than to comment on the Doctor’s unconventional methods, but that he still had to wonder how much kissing the thing really helped. It was his experience that technology hated him, and would not work better through kindness.

Given, he’d never been _that_ kind to any technology. The Doctor was tucking it in now or something, nestling it amongst the tools on the tools on the table and patting it gently with one hand. He stood, like he’d finished telling it a bedtime story and watched the sleepy ebb and flow of a yellow light on top of it. Satisfied, he moved to the couch and slumped onto it with a sigh, swinging his legs up and setting his feet on the only clear spot on the table.

After several minutes of even more waiting with no more movement from the Doctor beyond tucking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes like he fully intended to go to sleep, Angel cleared his throat expectantly.

“Hmmm?” the Doctor mumbled, not opening his eyes.

“Is it working?”

“Mmm,” the Doctor hummed with a slight nod.

“So where’s the TARDIS?”

“Can’t tell you till we take that second measurement. I might need a third to really pinpoint it.”

Angel sighed again. “I thought you said you were calling it here. So why do we care about measurements? Why isn’t it here?”

The Doctor opened one eye to look at Angel. He seemed deeply amused by whatever he saw. Smiling, he shrugged himself deeper into the couch. “Sit down, Angel.”

Angel hesitated, but decided that the little bit of movement might be good for him, so he uncrossed his arms and slowly circled the apothecary table to sit down next to the Doctor. He could almost hear his muscles creaking. He gingerly rested a hand over the bandages on his stomach.

“How often do we need to change those bandages?” the Doctor asked, blinking his eyes open briefly as Angel sat down

Angel glanced down. “Depends,” he said. He pulled his shirt up to look at the bandage. The blood was just beginning to seep through. “Pretty soon, I guess,” he muttered. “Just until it stops bleeding.”

“Sounds good. We’ll do that and I’ll give this thing another sample and then naps all around.”

Angel stared at the bandages for a moment. “Doctor,” he said eventually, looking up. “I _have_ to _do_ something.”

The Doctor slumped even lower. “Go order breakfast. You don’t have anything except for blood and milk.”

Angel thought for another moment. “Is that the most I can do to help right now?”

One second, the Doctor had been lazily reclined on the couch and headed swiftly towards sleep, and in the next second he was fully awake and had snatched Angel into a hug. Angel rethought exactly how inhumanly fast the Doctor might be; he also wondered if the Doctor was faking the sleep bit. Or maybe he was just annoyingly affectionate.

Angel was caught so off-guard at first that he didn’t move at all, but the Doctor’s embrace outlasted Angel’s shock, and now Angel squirmed uncomfortably. The Doctor did not let go. Angel tried repositioning enough to free an arm to pat the Doctor’s back (a gesture Angel thought was indicative of the end of a hug, but apparently not in Time Lord culture). Finally, the Doctor let go and sat up straight, looking at Angel with an expression of joy mixed with something Angel couldn’t identify.

“What?” Angel asked.

The Doctor continued to look at Angel with that expression. Wonder, maybe, Angel thought, or possibly pride, although he couldn’t see a reason for either.

“You are...fantastic, Angel. I think I forget just how fantastic you are and then I meet you again and _there you are_.” The Doctor beamed and Angel tried to move into a more defensive position to ward off any other hugs that might be directed at him.

Angel was not quite sure what to say in the face of such a glowing compliment. He so rarely received compliments at all, let alone one as adoring as that, and never from anyone who was less than a lover. Or Lorne.

“Er...thanks?” he finally said.

For a moment the Doctor continued to smile in spite of Angel’s half-hearted acceptance of the compliment and then he seemed overcome by that awkwardness that seemed to be a part of his nature, like it was added in to balance the careless confidence that he exuded the rest of the time.

“Right,” the Doctor said, standing. He took a step, nearly running into the table, and stopped short. After a bit of consideration and a lot of spinning, he sorted out a direction and headed back into Angel’s kitchen. Angel heard the refrigerator door open and close and the Doctor shouted, “Do you need to eat again, Angel?” Several cabinets were opened and closed. “Angel, you don’t have anything in. I’m going to have to go out. Do they have pie here?”

Angel stood up with a slight groan and shuffled into his bedroom to find his Palm in the pocket of the pants he’d been wearing earlier. “What kind?” he called back. The Palm was bloody, so went into the bathroom to rinse it off in the sink.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor answered, “the breakfast kind.”

Angel sighed and took it as a sign that the Doctor knew just as much about human food as Angel did. He could work with that. Fiddling with his Palm as he went back into the living room, trying and failing to search for “breakfasty pies,” and he finally suggested,

“There’s a bakery at the corner of the street. They might know.”

The Doctor practically danced out of the kitchen. “I love bakeries!” he announced like Angel would find this deeply exciting news. “We should definitely do that. Forget the pies. They’re filled with nothing but that nasty, globby fruit stuff.”

Angel started to say something, but then he thought better of it and just shook his head. He went to get his coat, trying not to move so stiffly.

“You, um...” the Doctor started, watching Angel put his coat on with a sympathetic wince, “don’t have to come if you don’t want...since you’re hurt.” He scuffed his shoe against the floor and looked like somewhere, deep down, he was trying to put on a brave face.

Angel tried to shove the thought that he’d suddenly become responsible for a 900-year-old puppy into the back of his mind. “No, I’ll be fine,” Angel said. “Can’t have you...getting lost or something.” Angel resisted the urge to add, _What would your parents say?_

“I’ll have you know that I have a perfect sense of direction. I could find my way out of a maze in the dark,” the Doctor replied, proudly adjusting his bowtie. “Or, no, I _might_ get lost; you should definitely come.”

“Mm-hm,” Angel replied, opening door. He liked the Doctor just fine, but he would trade the Doctor being lost for Judith in a second. He kept that to himself, though.

~~~~~

In all of Angel’s decades of living at his flat in Galway, he had never stepped foot inside that next-door bakery. It was small; quaint. It reminded Angel vaguely of the bakery his family used to buy from. He glanced over at the Doctor: this was now entirely in the Doctor’s court.

He seemed to know it, too.

“Yes,” he said, pointing at a pastry the second he walked through the door. “No, hate those. _What_ is that? I’ll take three...no...best try the first one first. Hold the three.” The Doctor spun around twice, his arms spread wide. He paused briefly facing Angel, lifting his arms a bit higher like he was trying to lift Angel’s enthusiasm from across the room. When Angel made it perfectly clear that that was not going to happen, the Doctor spun back around and turned all of his attention to the girl behind the counter. He sauntered up to the counter and leaned both of his elbows onto it.

“Hello!” his eyes scanned down to the nametag pinned to her shirt, “....Skye.”

Skye smiled, wrinkling the smudge of flour on her cheek. She was petite, and her long blonde hair was pulled back, already messy from a long morning’s work, even though dawn hadn’t yet broken.

“Morning,” she said, plopping her own elbows down on the counter, mirroring the Doctor’s posture. “S’not often we get folks so cheery this early in the day. How can I help?”

“Well,” the Doctor said, turning slightly so that only one elbow rested on the counter. Angel was sure the Doctor thought this looked much less dorky than it did. “I’m a morning person...and an afternoon person. I’m actually an all-around _time_ person.” He winked at Angel who made it a point to roll his eyes very clearly for the Doctor to see.

The Doctor waved his hand dismissively toward Angel and turned his attention back to Skye “Could you possibly direct me to the very _best_ thing you have in this shop? And do you do samples? I’m very picky.”

Skye smiled confidently. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll need samples,” she said, straightening up. “I am _excellent_ at matching the right person with the right _patisserie_. To start: sweet or savory?”

“Oh, she’s good, Angel,” the Doctor said over his shoulder and then turned back to the shopgirl to tell her that he wanted both at once. Angel stepped a bit closer to watch.

Skye seemed unfazed. “Cheese?”

“All the ones I don’t hate,” the Doctor replied. “You don’t have brie back there do you? It’s nasty and melty. Who wants cheese that melts at room temperature? Why bother making it?”

“Clearly, you’ve never had a proper brie roll, which would make sense if you’ve never here before.” She winked. “Here: free sample.” She bent and pulled a roll out of one of the display cases and cut off two pieces for the Doctor and Angel to try (Angel politely refused his). The Doctor held his free sample up to Angel like he’d won it at a fair.

“Now, a series of unconventional questions," Skye continued. "Answer the first thing that comes to mind: India or Japan?”

“Kites,” the Doctor told her and stuck the bread in his mouth. Before he even had time to chew he pulled the bit of roll out of his mouth again. “No, no, icky cheese. Definitely one of the ones I hate.”

Skye frowned pensively as she picked up a small rubbish bin by the payment kiosk and held it up for the Doctor to toss his brie roll bite. “Interesting,” she said. “Ecuador or Kenya?”

“Rabid wolves.”

“Seashells?”

“Love letters,” the Doctor said and then actually looked a bit ashamed. “Er...unwanted...love...letters...”

Skye’s mouth quirked knowingly. “Ashes?”

The Doctor stood up suddenly. “Are you just messing with me?” he asked. Angel didn’t think the Doctor should be allowed to ask anyone that question.

Skye straightened up. “Absolutely not, sir,” she said with mild offense. “This is a time-tested, scientific questionnaire that has matched thousands of lost customers with their perfect baked good. Please, I am an expert.”

“I do love an expert,” the Doctor admitted, relaxing back onto the counter. “Go on.”

“Ashes,” she repeated.

“Toast,” the Doctor lied. It was good as far as his lies went, but Angel thought the set-up sort of ruined it.

“Mars.”

“Warriors.”

“Leprechauns?”

The Doctor ducked his head sheepishly. “Betting pools.”

“Home.”

“Ear...” the Doctor lowered his voice, “biting.”

The girl blinked, but recovered quickly. “Cyanide.”

“Giant killer bees,” the Doctor immediately and then added after a pause, “also preachers.”

“Last one: angels.”

The Doctor paused. “That one sounds important,” he said. “I don’t want to mess it up… I think...stillness.”

Skye _hmmm_ ed and then went to fetch a small plate behind her. She set it on the counter and opened a jar near the cash register, picked up a pair of tongs, and pulled out a long dark piece of something that was seemed to be sprinkled with sugar crystals. Angel leaned forward a bit. There was a symphony of smells coming from the thing, and it clattered on the plate as she set it down and replaced the tongs and the jar lid. She picked up the plate and held it out to the Doctor.

“Salted spicy chocolate biscotti,” she said. “Secret ingredient: mashed avocado and diced persimmons. A clash of complimentary tastes that honestly can’t quite decide what it wants to be and requires a...” she smiled. “Sense of adventure. On me.”

“Ha!” the Doctor seemed like he’d be laughing if he wasn’t too busy looking absolutely delighted. He plucked the biscotti off of the plate, considered it, smelled it, _licked_ it and then finally took a hesitant bite. He swallowed it, which Angel took for a good sign.

“This is why you should always go to a professional, Angel,” the Doctor said with his mouth full. “If anyone asks I will be sure to tell them that the best bakery in four star systems is this one right here.”

Skye beamed. “We _do_ have a perfect record,” she said, and then turned to Angel. “Your turn.”

Angel took a step back. “Er, no...thanks. I don’t eat...pastries. Ever.”

“He’s not a morning person,” the Doctor said in a loud whisper.

“We have something for that!” Skye exclaimed and whirled around. “Back in a mo’!”

“No, really,” Angel called after her, but it was too late. She’d already gone into the back, a wave of hot, floury air hitting them as the door to the kitchen shut behind her. Angel sighed in defeat.

“You should do the test, Angel. See if she gives you blood oranges,” the Doctor said, walking along the counter and running his fingers along the cases of pastries.

“But I don’t like blood oranges,” Angel said.

“Turtle blood soup?” the Doctor suggested. “I’d be very impressed if she had soup stashed back there just for you.”

“She’d have to be psychic,” Angel said. “I’ve never been in here.” Angel started contemplating the idea that the girl might actually be psychic.

Skye returned presently with a plate and pastry in hand. She held it up and stopped at the counter. “Espresso coffee cake,” she said, and started to offer it to Angel, but then pulled back. “No...” she said thoughtfully. “You seem more like a tart kind of person. Simple. Intense. Sweet or savory?”

“Er…” Angel glanced over at the Doctor uncertainly. The Doctor waved at him encouragingly.

“Salty?” Angel guessed. “And sweet. But not savory.”

She nodded. “Spain or Ohio?”

“Spain.”

“Kenya or the Congo?”

Angel hesitated, glancing again at the Doctor. “Egypt,” he replied.

“Seashells?”

“Gritty.”

“Ashes.”

“Eternity.”

This seemed to give the girl pause, if only for a second. “Train wreck,” she prompted.

“Orchestrated.”

“Time.”

Angel paused briefly. “The Universe’s biggest joke.”

The Doctor snorted behind Angel. The girl shushed him. “This is important,” she scolded. “Last one: fear.”

Angel swallowed. “Power.”

“Interesting,” Skye said, frowning slightly. “I stand by what I said before. You’re a tart sort of person. Here,” she stepped farther down the counter and pulled out a chocolate tart so dark it was almost black, topped with a deep red jam-looking substance. “Devil’s Advocate. Chocolate, slightly sweetened with liquor and fresh-mashed raspberries.”

Angel was skeptical, but he took the plate anyway and the fork she offered and tried a bite. He was impressed. Angel did not typically like human food, but this one had an intensity and a depth that he found appealing. And he had always thought that everything could be made better by liquor. He nodded.

“That’s good,” he said. “Thanks.”

Skye beamed.

The Doctor did too, and enthusiastically cheered Skye’s success. He congratulated her and insisted on shaking her hand. Twice. By the time Angel and the Doctor exited the bakery, Angel felt like the Doctor might have arranged a news crew to show up and document the whole thing. Thankfully, he had not.

“I can’t believe you’ve never gone in there,” the Doctor said, as they strode back up the street. “The smells alone are lovely. You could show up and breathe.”

“I smell it enough living nearby,” Angel replied. “And I don’t eat human food.”

“But it’s about the experience. It’s not an experience if you’re down the street.”

“I...experience things,” Angel argued. “I just don’t have to experience _everything_.”

“And why did bakeries get scratched from the list, then?” the Doctor inquired. “Don’t give me the human food line again, you could have gone with someone.”

Angel shrugged. “Never really seemed like a fun thing to do, I guess. Not eating human foods makes the smells not all that exciting. Kind of...irrelevant. And think about it Doctor,” Angel added, holding the door to his building open for the Doctor. “A vampire in a bakery?”

The Doctor stepped through and waited for Angel to follow to say, “I’m not saying you’d have to live there. I’m just surprised that you never visited.”

Angel shrugged again and called the lift for them. Angel generally didn’t like using the lift--he only lived two floors up and it seemed the lazy way to do things--but his abdomen still had a gaping hole in it. He was going to have to drink more blood soon. And sleep.

“Doctor,” Angel said after a brief moment of silence had passed. “What actually comes to your mind with the word ‘ashes’?”

The Doctor glanced over at him. “Of course,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re going to have to tell me how you do that sometime.”

“Do what?” Angel asked, leading the way into the lift as the doors silently opened.

“Remember,” the Doctor said, running his finger along the outline of the control box on the elevator. “Most of the time when people catch me lying there’s enough...stuff that happens after that they forget to ask again.”

“Mm,” Angel said thoughtfully. “It was an interesting thing to lie about,” he answered after a moment. “So? What comes to mind?”

The pause lasted long enough for Angel to think that the Doctor wasn’t going to answer at all. The lift reached Angel’s floor and they walked down the hall to Angel’s door.

“Arcadia,” the Doctor said as Angel pressed his finger against the lock. “It wouldn’t have been useful in that context.”

“What’s Arcadia?” Angel asked.

“Exactly,” the Doctor said, pushing open the door. “No good for a questionnaire. More of an essay question. Might be able to fit it into that game show. Whatsit? The one with the questions for answers. ‘What battle was the turning point in the Time War?’ Arcadia was...” the Doctor paused, looking up at the ceiling, “a city. A battle. The outer domes melted in the heat like...” the Doctor stopped and shook his head. He smiled at Angel instead of finishing the sentence.

“Oh,” Angel said slowly, wincing as he took off his coat. He rested a hand over his wound as he hung the coat on the hook. He remembered the last time the Doctor was around, walking through the golf course with him looking for alien tech. Angel had asked about the Time War and the Doctor had not really answered except to say that the fires were still burning, and later that he preferred ashes to flames. If the Doctor was bringing it up, the ashes must be falling, now. But that didn’t mean the embers were ready to be stirred.

“Right,” Angel said, nodding with a half smile to return the Doctor’s. “That’s probably too involved.”

“Hmm....” the Doctor agreed, looking around Angel’s flat like he hadn’t seen it before. “And I suspect toast gets across a similar meaning. Metaphorically, anyway.”

Angel nodded, more to show agreement than actually agreeing. He stopped and looked between his bedroom and his kitchen, trying to decide between food and sleep.

“So when is the next measurement?” he asked instead of deciding.

The Doctor looked at his watch. “18 hours,” he said and then added, “-ish.”

Angel nodded with a resigned sigh. “You’ll have to find your own food after this,” he said. “I’m going to pass out for a lot of that.”

“Sounds...good,” the Doctor said, still lingering by the door. “Get your strength up.”

“It helps the healing process,” Angel replied. “You okay by yourself for a while?”

The Doctor made a face. “Yes, Mum,” he sighed.

Angel narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t break anything,” he said.

The Doctor smiled at him. It looked ominous. “I’m the Doctor,” he said, adjusting his jacket, “I don’t break things.”

Angel did not believe a word of this. Nevertheless, he started to make his way to the bedroom door, but he paused halfway there. He turned back to the Doctor. “Are you sure there isn’t _anything_ else we can do to get her back now?”

The Doctor continued to smile. “Do you need me to redo the bandages?”

Angel sighed and glanced down. He shook his head. “I can do it,” he said. He hesitated an extra second before turning again and going the rest of the way into his bedroom.

~~~~~

It took the Doctor the better part of an hour before he got really bored. He’d already explored Angel’s kitchen and there just wasn’t a lot to the rest of Angel’s apartment. The apothecary table in front of his couch in the living room did contain several drawers of interesting ingredients, and some not-so-interesting ingredients. There was a chest of weapons along the wall near the door to Angel’s bedroom. Each weapon had been carefully sharpened, polished, and tucked away with care. The library was interesting to explore, but the Doctor was feeling too antsy to read. By the time the sun was glinting behind the blinds, the Doctor decided that he would have to go out. After all, Angel would likely sleep through the day. Plus, the Doctor thought that there were a few loose ends from the night before that could definitely use some tying off. Or cleaning up.

Did one trim loose ends? That seemed like a metaphor for violence. If he dealt with the loose ends before Angel woke up, maybe they wouldn’t be trimmed!

On that note, the Doctor headed out into the city.

Galway had a certain glow in the daytime that the Doctor hadn’t really gotten to appreciate with his last visit. The glass walkways that crossed between buildings refracted the light in all directions making the city seem just a little too bright to be Earth.

He always liked when he had pleasant scenery to look at while he tracked down a megalomaniac.


	3. The Trouble That Comes from Leaving a Time Lord Unattended

When Angel woke up, it took him several moments to remember why his body ached so much and why he had a general feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. The dread, which came crashing back in full clarity, was twofold: Judith was missing, and the Doctor was staying at Angel’s flat. Angel was genuinely not sure which worried him more.

He liked the Doctor; he did, in general. But the Doctor also weirded him out. He changed his face every other time they ran into each other, and with it his motives and personality. He was impossible to pin down, and slippery people put Angel on edge, even if this one had once looked at him with an affection that Angel felt in his bones and said that they were friends like it actually meant something.

Angel groaned as he sat up. He listened to his suspiciously quiet home, the sense of dread gathering thicker. Angel would be the first to admit to not knowing a great many things about the Doctor, but he was fairly certain that the only way the Doctor could be so completely silent would be if he weren’t there at all.

Angel did not like that thought. Not that he was particularly worried about the Doctor’s safety wandering around Galway on his own, nor was he worried about the Doctor getting lost or getting into trouble. 

No, what bothered Angel about the Doctor being out there alone was much deeper and less caring than friendly concern. If the Doctor was out there, he was _meddling_. In _Angel’s_ town. Without Angel’s say. And Angel’s hold on his own territory was tenuous. The exact opposite thing of what he needed was a smiling, bumbling, idiotically-dressed alien taking over while Angel was _sleeping_.

Angel shuffled stiffly out of bed and checked his bandages. The bleeding had stopped. Angel made his way to the bathroom to tend the wound and splash some water on his face before getting dressed and deciding what to do next. He could start his routine early; pick up some blood from the hospital, talk to a few demons he needed to see… All the while keeping his senses alert for hints as to what the Doctor had been up to in the last several hours.

This seemed like the most agreeable plan, even though normally he would have waited an extra day or so while he healed. Angel was often surrounded by those who wouldn’t hesitate to strike if they found the right weakness, so he decided to wrap a roll of bandages around his abdomen for the extra support.

He also ate briefly before he left for the extra bit of strength. Angel slipped a knife into his belt and hid it with his jacket, closing and locking the door behind him.

It was a full, slightly agonizing hour before Angel heard the explosion.

It wasn’t too far off, but Angel still felt it more than heard it. The sewer shook slightly under his feet and the deep _boom_ vibrated in his chest. Turning slowly, Angel tried to figure out where exactly the explosion had come from and how best to get there from his current location. He chose a tunnel and hadn’t been traveling down it more than a few minutes when the sirens went by on the street above him. He sprinted after them, trusting the emergency vehicles to have a better knowledge of where exactly the fire was. 

The tunnels twisted and turned, but Angel kept pace. The wound in his gut settled into a steady ache with his constant jarring run. Halfway around a twist in the sewer, Angel heard it: the telltale screech of the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver. He came to a sudden stop and went still, gauging where he was in the sewer system and listening for another clue as to the Doctor’s whereabouts. 

It came in the form of the Doctor’s voice. He had apparently come to a stop directly above Angel. “Umm....” the Doctor said. Angel heard the scuffing sound of shoes starting to run in several directions and coming to successive skidding halts. 

Angel jerked into action. He leapt to the top of the sewer ladder and shoved the sewer lid up just as the Doctor dashed by. Endlessly thankful for vampire speed, Angel threw his arm out. He caught the Doctor by the ankle and hauled him - kicking, yelling, and generally flailing - into the sewer. Angel reached back up and slammed the lid shut like a battle shield whatever monster was up there. Angel dropped to the ground beside the Doctor, wincing from his still-tender stomach wound.

The Doctor sat up, sputtering water and looking around wildly. He held his left arm a bit stiffly, probably from hitting the ground at a poor angle. Angel refused to feel sorry about the movie-monster act that he’d just pulled. It had probably looked downright badass. 

“Lost?” Angel asked, folding his arms across his chest and raising an eyebrow.

The Doctor’s expression shifted from wide-eyed panic to brilliant smile almost instantly. “Angel!” 

Angel smiled and reached out a hand. 

The Doctor grabbed Angel’s hand and pulled himself up, shaking the water out of his hair. “Completely lost!” he said, slapping Angel gently on the shoulder. “Now that you’re here, I’m sure the whole thing will sort itself out.” 

“What did you do, Doctor?” Angel asked. He didn’t need to see the mess to know that it was probably the Doctor’s fault.

“Well...” the Doctor started, tugging Angel into motion and setting off at a light jog down the tunnel with Angel close behind, “you see, I went to see our lovely floating fishy friend. What’s with us and fish Angel? Is it a thing now? Two’s not quite a thing.” 

Angel growled. “Right! So, I thought if we’re ever going to coax the TARDIS back, we should probably make it so it doesn’t get stolen again. Then we’d be right back where we started. Insanity is, after all, doing the same thing again and expecting different results.” Angel thought there might be another definition of insanity that was just a picture of the Doctor.

“So I found him at the power plant. I figured he still needed power to move forward with his plan, you see. I mean, without the TARDIS, he couldn’t take over the world, but he might have a go at the West bit of Ireland. Which was exactly his plan.” The Doctor rolled his eyes at Angel, to show how predictable this was. “We had words. And he might have forgotten that some valves were left on. Maybe because I turned them on and that’s why he wasn’t thinking about it. I think some of the city will be out of power for a bit. Sorry about that if it’s your apartment. Anyway, his more loyal groupies have-- _had_ returned, and the ones that didn’t get caught in the explosion are either running away or running after....uh...me.” The Doctor came to a fork and headed for the right tunnel without pausing. Angel grabbed the back of his jacket and hauled him down the left path. “I haven’t asked them. But they looked...” 

“Upset?” Angel guessed.

“Exactly!” the Doctor agreed. 

“Brilliant,” Angel muttered. “I was really hoping I could get into another fight today. Maybe my other side will get impaled.”

“Just keep running,” the Doctor said, turning a corner and speeding up to a run. Angel kept pace, wincing at the pain in his side that was increasing back to sharpness. “We’ll probably lose them.”

“Yeah, for now,” Angel agreed. “But we’ll have to deal with them sooner or later. And what happened to fish-guy? Is he dead?”

“He didn’t seem explosion-proof,” the Doctor admitted. “I don’t think he made it out.” The Doctor just managed to duck his head before he ran into a pipe. Seeming to realize what he’d missed just as he passed it, he gave the pipe a little wave and kept going. “I vote we move all fights to later!” 

Angel couldn’t much argue with that; the pain in his side would definitely hinder the taking-care-of-it-now aspect of things. Also, that would give Angel a chance to deal with it in his own way. He wasn’t sure what the Doctor’s way was, although it was historically likely that the Doctor would just tell them to leave the planet. If they weren’t locals, Angel could deal with that. But he knew at least some of them were locals, and the rules were different with other residents of Angel’s own town.

So later was a good idea.

They jogged through the sewers, splashing through tunnels, and after the Doctor had taken several turns at random, Angel started to herd him toward Old Town. Eventually, they both slowed, the Doctor breathing hard from the exertion and Angel favoring his side heavily. 

“Think we lost ‘em?” the Doctor asked, squinting into the darkness behind them. 

Angel couldn’t hear the splash of following footsteps and took it as a good sign. “For now,” he said, panting shallowly because it helped soothe the pain. “But let’s keep moving.” He led the way forward at a much slower pace now. When the Doctor seemed to have caught his breath back, Angel said, “So it this how it works, Doctor? Every time I wake up I have to come bail you out of trouble?”

The Doctor gave a short laugh. “I hope not; even _I_ don’t get in trouble every day. It’s more like every other day. You can leave it if you like. I’m actually pretty good at this sort of thing.” 

Angel glanced over at the Doctor. “Leave it?” he asked.

The Doctor shrugged. He stepped around a large puddle and flopped his hand in the air. “If it’s too much trouble,” he said. “I get by.” 

“It’s not too much trouble,” Angel said. Actually, it _was_ quite a bit of trouble, but trouble seemed to follow the Doctor like a wake. “It’s kind of my job. You can leave it to me, actually.”

Jumping over a pipe with both feet, the Doctor grinned, first at the resulting splash of water and then at Angel. “That’s wonderful to hear,” he said. “That you’re back on the case. I’ve been worried about you.” 

“Worried?” Angel tried to brush it off with a chuckle, even though he stepped over the same pipe barely hiding a grimace. “I’m fine.”

“So was I last time,” the Doctor said. 

Angel glanced over at the Doctor suspiciously. “Your last time or mine?”

“Yours,” the Doctor said. “No fish people that time.” 

“Right,” Angel said, nodding. Secretly, he tried to suss out what the Doctor was trying to imply about his “fine-ness.” The Doctor certainly hadn’t been fine the last time Angel had seen him, and Angel liked to think he himself was doing much better now than he had been at the time. He’d reintegrated with humans. Connected. Found purpose.

Was he not actually fine? Or was the Doctor that worried about his gut wound?

Angel looked over at the Doctor again. “What are you implying?”

The Doctor paused to direct his sonic screwdriver at an innocent bit of pipe. Nodding at the end of it like it had told him something, he looked over at Angel like he’d asked something odd. “Just that the last time I saw you, you weren’t in a good place. I’ve had to wait a long time for this other shoe to drop. I’ve had to wait a few hundred years to confirm that you did start buying milk. Good for you, by the way.” 

Angel blinked at the Doctor, stunned. “You’ve been worried for _centuries_ about whether or not I decided to buy _milk?_ ”

Grinning again, the Doctor continued on down the tunnel. “Not _all_ the time,” the Doctor said. “But it would occur to me. Particularly when we’d meet. I saw how much you loved your friends and I’d think, ‘I hope he makes new friends in the future.’” The Doctor’s expression softened. “I figured you’d be alright.” 

Angel followed the Doctor in silence for several steps, trying to wrap his mind around the events of their meetings as the Doctor must have experienced them. The last time they met in Angel’s timeline would have only been the second (or the third?) for the Doctor. He hadn’t really known Angel, and didn’t have much reason to care, especially if he was just coming off the Time War. And yet he still wondered whether some vampire managed to make friends in the future.

Well, that _had_ been the question of the night, Angel supposed.

“I am,” Angel said eventually. “Alright, that is.”

Looking Angel over like he wanted to confirm Angel’s statement for himself, the Doctor finally nodded once in agreement. “You are,” he said with a quiet authority. 

Silence fell for a long time, except for the slimy dripping of water and soft sounds of their shoes. Angel wasn’t entirely sure where they were going, though both he and the Doctor acted like they did.

“Are you?” Angel asked after a while. “Fine?”

“Oh, _definitely_ ,” the Doctor said. “Great, even.” 

“Great,” Angel repeated. “So...the ashes are settling, then?”

The Doctor fell silent. Some cruel part of Angel made a mental note that if nothing else, there was one way to shut the Doctor up. Their footsteps echoed along the tunnel around them for some time before the Doctor finally said, “You could say that.” 

So the Doctor had a ways to go before he could look at Angel and talk about the most tragic event in his life like Angel was his friend and had a right to know. Angel wondered how long it would take for him to get to that point. How much of a history they will have had before Angel drank him dry.

Angel could spot a shut door when it was slammed in his face, and a little relieved that this Doctor was that far away from potentially being murdered by Angel, Angel said simply, “Good.” Silence fell again for a while as they wound their way through the sewers. 

The silence was starting to edge toward awkward when the Doctor started talking again. Not about anything in particular, but more in what seemed like an aggressive form of verbal self defense. Like if he put several thousand words between him and Angel’s last question, it would be forgotten by everyone involved. He talked about the math of finding Judith in time. He talked about how the TARDIS used to be much more jumpy and by jumpy he meant that it used to just jump away. He talked about how many times he’d been on a submarine. He talked about an alternate dimension where Earth had exploded. 

It wouldn’t stop. 

At the same time, the Doctor seemed to be acclimating to the sewer. It was a subtle change, but shockingly fast. He’d looked completely ridiculous when Angel had first hauled him down there looking entirely lost and nearly tripping or running into every little pipe that happened to stick out from the wall. Really, Angel admitted, he still did look ridiculous with his half-dry hair sticking to his face and most of him smudged with dirt, but now he looked at home and ridiculous. Instead of tripping over pipes he was jumping on and off of them like it was a game he remembered from childhood. 

“So what’s your plan?” Angel interrupted at one point just to get the Doctor to stop calculating the likelihood of the two of them encountering a fish alien for a third time. 

The Doctor’s speech and feet stuttered to a stop. “Plan?” he asked. “For what?” 

Angel gestured behind them. “Explosion aftermath,” he said. “Angry demons hunting you down.”

The Doctor looked back down the tunnel behind them. “I thought they’d get bored of that,” he said. Shrugging, he turned to face forward again. “I took care of the main problem. The rest will sort itself out.” 

Meaning, in reality, that _Angel_ would sort it out. Which was admittedly how Angel wanted it, but the principle of the thing bothered him. “You mean you’re going to let other people deal with the mess.”

“Well,” the Doctor considered that and finally concluded, “shouldn’t they?” 

Angel had to think for several moments about his answer. On the one hand, Angel believed that whoever made the mess should clean it up. On the other, Angel didn’t want another incident like last night with the Doctor insisting that it was his planet, his rules, and Angel couldn’t deal with things the normal, violent way he needed to if he wanted to keep control.

“I don’t know,” Angel finally said. “Forget it.”

“I get things started,” the Doctor said. “I’m a starter.” He waved his hand like this was a dramatic proclamation. “The middle kills me. It’s all details and years of the same thing and paperwork. And I hate endings.” He shook his head. “Nope. I unstick the problem and then let everyone else get on with it.” 

Angel’s teeth clenched together as he let that sink in. If it was just about Angel having to put a bunch of demons in line (again), Angel thought he could have let that slide as an annoying, rather rude quirk. But it wasn’t just about reining in the demons; it was about getting Judith back, too. Was the Doctor implying that he wouldn’t help Angel get Judith home if he had the means to leave?

What sort of friendship were they going to have, if that was his sense of loyalty? Angel could only imagine himself hating the Doctor more and more if he kept showing up, starting something, and never finishing it. Was it some kind of weird, chronologically-challenged poetic justice that Angel had ended their friendship before it began? The Doctor was certainly going to hate _that_ ending...

Angel crossed his arms over his chest, just above the wound. “So if you had your TARDIS, you’d just…” He freed one arm to wave it vaguely before replacing it. “Go?”

The Doctor blinked. “I mean...” he said, “yeah. That’s my life,” he said, lifting one shoulder. 

Angel nodded curtly. “Consequences be damned,” he muttered, glad for the fortune that Judith was lost on the one thing that the Doctor was sure to follow through on. Still, it wouldn’t hurt for Angel to start looking for his own way of getting her back. Since he was alone in _wanting_ to get her back.

A grim expression crossed the Doctor’s face. “I’m sure I’ll pay for it,” he said. 

“I hope it’s worth the cost,” Angel replied shortly.

The Doctor fell silent again, his eyes focusing on the pipes that crossed their path. He moved with grace and ease, now; far from his bumbling, stumbling gait when Angel first pulled him down there. It was like any space or situation that contained the Doctor suddenly turned into something that inherently belonged to the Doctor. 

Which was, Angel thought, also deeply annoying. 

The worst part was that the Doctor would be completely oblivious to Angel’s observations, which meant that if Angel used his normal, direct way of dealing with things, it would leave him looking like a violent, territorial-- Well, okay, so it would leave him looking like himself, but in the worst possible way. 

“You know,” the Doctor said cheerfully, “it’s not really that bad down here.” 

Angel glared sideways at the Doctor. 

“It might be the company,” the Doctor admitted, sounding no less happy.

 _Damn him_ , Angel thought. Sentiments like that made it much less appropriate for him to be upset.

“So you must be down here all the time,” the Doctor continued, seemingly clueless as to Angel’s mood. “Actually, it seems like it would make a pretty high traffic area. Is there a movement to clean the place up a bit, or does that ruin the atmosphere?” 

“It’s a _sewer_ ,” Angel said. “It’s not supposed to be clean.”

“Ah, it would ruin the atmosphere then,” the Doctor nodded in understanding.

“No,” Angel said, a little more firmly than he meant to. “No, there is no ‘atmosphere.’ It’s just. A sewer.”

“Sewer’s an atmosphere. You know...” the Doctor looked around. “Dank, dark...wet...there are a lot of bars that go pretty far out of their way for this.”

“It’s not. A bar!” Angel said, gesturing to emphasize his point. “It’s a goddamn sewer!”

The Doctor spun around. Angel did not like the look on his face. “An opportunity then!” he cried gleefully. “Think of it, Angel: The Sewer Bar! You could serve nothing but scotch.” 

Angel gave the Doctor a look very similar to the ones he used to give Cordelia when she tried to convince him to care about shoes.

The Doctor held his smile against Angel’s glare for a full ten seconds before it started to wilt. “Think about it?” he tried.

Angel walked on.

“A bit?” the Doctor urged, running after Angel for the three steps it took to catch up with him.

“No.”

“It could be fun.”

“No.”

“I could help!”

“Oh, _god_ , no.”

“You’re right,” the Doctor said sounding like he’d just come to a deep realization. “I’d have to stick around...and do paperwork. Sorry, Angel, you’re on your own.”

Angel did not even dignify this with a response.

“So if you don’t want to run a bar, what _do_ you do, Angel?”

Angel took a moment to think about it. His mood had soured too much for any kind of talking, but this, at least, was partly what he was sour about. “I… I’m kind of...” He glanced at the Doctor. “This is my town.”

“Is it?” the Doctor said, he rubbed his fingers together like he was feeling out the idea between them. He sounded interested and just a bit amused.

“Yes,” Angel replied tersely. Actually, it was a bit of an exaggeration, but ‘This is my section of town’ sounded less impressive and a touch apathetic.

“So what does one do with a town?” the Doctor asked, still sounding like he was trying very hard not to make a joke. Angel wasn’t sure if he should take it as such or not.

Angel shrugged. “Protect it,” he said. 

This was the better answer. In truth, Angel had taken over when he moved there simply because he wanted it quieter than it was. Sick of being jumped in the alleyways, he’d quickly made a name for himself (helped by a few of the older demons who recognized him as Angelus), and that name gave him power to frighten the underworld of Galway into some sort of order. After Angel had staked a respectable boundary that included most of the places he most often frequented (the Dragon’s Crown being a notable exception), others had staked their sections, too, and now Galway was divided into provinces, of sorts. The only thing Angel demanded of his constituents was quiet above ground, and below he gave free reign. Human protection was an inevitable consequence for Angel having things the way he liked it.

Now, of course, Angel had more of an interest in the human side again, so his answer was more true than it ever had been. He didn’t see the need to explain any of this, though.

“That is a good thing to do with a town,” the Doctor agreed.

Angel nodded. When the Doctor didn’t continue, Angel glanced over to find the Doctor watching him. The scrutiny seemed close enough that it made Angel uncomfortable with how much the Doctor might be seeing. Angel shifted and looked forward again.

The irritating prickle of watching eyes continued for a moment and then the Doctor shrugged and continued forward next to Angel. He allowed them to walk almost five minutes in comfortable silence before he spoke again. “So...where are we going?” he asked, and then added, “If we’re not looking for bar locations...” 

“Actually,” Angel said, “we are. Or I am. There are some people I need to talk to at the Dragon’s Crown.”

“Brilliant! I love new people. Are we going to do _negotiations_?” The Doctor put an odd emphasis on the last word, like it was something he’d been waiting to try out in the real world and was barely containing his excitement about the opportunity that had just presented itself.

Angel hesitated. “Kind of,” he replied. “But uh...” Angel glanced at the Doctor once up and down, taking in the Doctor’s full sludgey glory. “Maybe you should go home and shower instead.”

The Doctor glanced down. Some of his hair helpfully (for Angel, anyway) fell into his face, dripping water onto his nose. “Maybe...” the Doctor finally allowed, after a long and careful look at his own clothes. Angel suspected he was trying to make showing up to anything covered in mud sound like a good plan. Of course, if the Doctor wanted to, he’d probably just insist on going anyway, but Angel suspected he wouldn’t. Death seemed like the only legitimate reason the Doctor recognized for changing clothes, and Angel suspected that he was probably particularly meticulous when it came to whatever outfit he had chosen. 

Not meticulous about the choice of outfit, obviously, but meticulous about the execution after that choice had been made. 

“If you don’t mind...” the Doctor said. 

“Well...” Angel said slowly, trying to keep himself from sounding too gleeful. “Alright.”

The Doctor pushed his hair back again. “I could come meet you there...” he said, trying to salvage the situation. 

“Better not,” Angel said. “Ojn’ii doesn’t like to be interrupted. I’ll be home soon.”

“I guess I could work on the lock feed on the device,” the Doctor sighed. 

“And take another measurement?” Angel asked hopefully.

“In a few hours, yes.” 

Angel sighed again. He stopped them at the entrance to a branching tunnel and pointed down it. “After 500 meters, turn right. Make the second left, and after the four-way intersection, it’s the third ladder.”

The Doctor nodded without pausing or repeating the directions to himself. He took a few steps down the tunnel and then turned. “Oh, Angel?” he called back. 

Angel was about to continue on, but he paused and looked at the Doctor.

“Try to stay out of trouble,” the Doctor grinned at him and set off down the tunnel. 

Angel growled to himself. “Yes, mom,” he called back, and then moved gratefully on down the tunnels alone.

~~~~~

When Angel returned home a little over an hour later, he found the Doctor on his couch wearing one of Angel’s black silk shirts with a pair of Angel’s dark trousers and looking utterly miserable about the whole thing. 

Angel blinked once and shut the door behind him. Angel and the Doctor stared at each other for a long moment. “Why are you wearing my clothes?” Angel finally asked.

The Doctor glared at the corner where the washing machine was tucked away behind a closed closet door. 

Angel also glanced at the same corner and noted the soft hum of the machine churning away. “Oh,” he said. He looked back at the Doctor.

“It’s broken,” the Doctor finally said, his glare at the corner turning particularly malicious. “Doesn’t even get stains out.” 

Angel frowned and glanced back toward the door concealing the machine. Angel always threw away his blood-stained shirts, so he really couldn’t comment on the machine’s stain-removal abilities. “Er...” he said. He scratched his head. “I could call a repairman...”

“That won’t be necessary,” the Doctor said dangerously. Angel wondered if he’d just discovered an issue big enough for the Doctor to consider it a problem. Angel swallowed nervously.

“Ohhh...kay...”

The Doctor tore his eyes away from the corner, but kept glancing at it as if he suspected it to try and make some sort of escape attempt if he didn’t keep an eye on it. Or maybe the Doctor could kill technology from thirty paces with sheer ill will. Angel would not put it past him. 

There was an awkward silence.

Finally, Angel said the only thing that he could think of: “Want some tea?”

The Doctor nodded his head with a few jerky movements like a crying child who had been offered an ice cream cone. Angel took off his coat and hung it up before ambling into the kitchen. He unconsciously put his hand to his bandaged wound as he did, now that it was safe for him to acknowledge it.

Angel fixed the tea and brought it out several minutes later. The Doctor was still pouting, now with his legs pulled up on the couch and the odd box in his hand. “The wavelengths aren’t building very well,” the Doctor said as Angel set the tea mug in front of him. 

“Sorry,” Angel said, though he wasn’t entirely sure it was the appropriate response given that he didn’t at all know what that meant.

“It’s like she...” the Doctor stopped and looked up at Angel in a way that made Angel suspect that he’d only just then been noticed. “You made tea,” he said with a tiny hopeful smile. He exchanged the device for the tea mug.

Angel gave the Doctor a look. “You told me to.”

“And then you did. It’s a good system. We should stick to it.”

The Doctor took a cautious sip of tea. He made a face and looked like he’d like nothing better than to spit it back out. He glanced at Angel and made a very big show of swallowing. “Do you have sugar?” he said once he’d recovered. 

Angel went back into the kitchen without a word and fetched the sugar.

The Doctor uncurled himself from his position on the couch and took the small bowl. He dug the spoon into the bowl and started shaking it lightly to level off the sugar. Once he was satisfied with…actually, Angel wasn’t sure if the Doctor was trying to get a specific amount or just really into leveling off his sugar, the Doctor dumped the sugar into his cup and set to stirring. He glanced up at Angel as he did. 

“So...” he started, but the oddness of the situation seemed to have caught up with him too. He gave up on starting a sentence entirely and looked back down at his tea.

“So...” Angel agreed. He considered simply getting a book and settling down to read. Instead, he asked, “So what about that measurement?”

The Doctor pulled his wrist up to look at his watch only to realize that he wasn’t wearing it at the moment. He sighed. “We’ll go in an hour and a half.” 

Angel sighed also and nodded, frustration building at his helplessness to help find Judith and bring her home. This was why Angel hated technology: reliance on it took away one’s own power. Angel preferred magic for that reason. Magic was as potent as the practitioner, and Angel wasn’t great at it, but being a supernatural creature did help the magic to at least do _something_ , if not succeed. Angel suddenly stood up and went to his bookshelves. He pulled out a certain volume and settled back down with it, holding it up in such a way that the Doctor couldn’t distract him.

Except that the Doctor was very distracting, even silent. Maybe it was the double heart rhythm. Or the blood that Angel could still smell.

His stomach clenched again with uncomfortably eager anticipation at the memory of how that incredible particular blood felt in his stomach.

Angel glanced surreptitiously over his book at the Doctor. He suddenly appreciated how difficult not aging was for people on the outside. He had no idea how long it would be for this Doctor before Angel would drink from to save his own life. He had no idea how long they had of “being friends” until one day the Doctor would stop showing up. Even if he survived, Angel was sure their friendship wouldn’t. One person almost killing the other tended to end things like friendships. His stomach clenched again, but this time with guilt. 

Angel went back to his book.

~~~~~

The Doctor hated being in other people’s homes. Once the initial joy of exploring wore off, the whole thing tended to feel like he was trying to wear someone else’s clothes. He was becoming increasingly aware of how out of place he was, how much this whole thing didn’t quite fit and how it didn’t really complement his eye color at all. 

So really, it didn’t help that he happened to be wearing someone else’s clothes at the moment. He stirred his tea. Anticlockwise. Ten times. Setting the spoon aside, he tasted it and realized that he’d put too much sugar in. So it was going to be _that_ sort of day. 

_Alright,_ he thought angrily at the tea, _be that way, see if I care._ He set the cup onto the table and tried not to think about how not-his his arm looked when it was all covered in black silk. Houses must be some sort of infection. It was the only explanation. Angel’s flat was creeping into him, filling him with an unwelcome hollowness. 

Maybe that was just Angel. He looked less than pleased that the Doctor was there, what with him holding his book at just the right angle to block the Doctor from view. Normally the Doctor managed to make his getaway before people started giving him that look...or lack of look. The maybe-if-we-ignore-it-it’ll-go-away look. 

The Doctor stood up. 

The shirt slithered against his back: cold and indifferent and-- _Clothing is not a metaphor_ , the Doctor told himself and then wished for his bowtie back. Angel continued to ignore him. And he’d thought things had been going so well… He ran through the series of events in his head and tried to sort out when it had All Gone Wrong. 

The internal debate ended in a two-way split between Angel dragging him into that puddle and getting him covered in mud (he was calling it mud in his head), and the TARDIS disappearing. He stopped pacing, suddenly unsure of when he’d started pacing, and glanced at Angel. Maybe he could ask Angel when it had All Gone Wrong. 

Angel turned a page. 

The Doctor sighed. Loudly. He glanced at Angel to check for a reaction. 

Nothing. 

He was going to die. He’d always known he was allergic to other people’s houses and this was what came of it. It was going to be the death of him, the Doctor was sure of it. The world was going black. His hearts were no longer beating in sync. The walls were, in fact, closing in (he was going to have to look into that). There was this weird _wishshshsh_ ing noise in his head. 

No, wait, that was the washing machine. 

The Doctor sat down again. He took a nice, deep, calming breath and told himself that maybe, just maybe, he was being a bit silly. Maybe Angel just liked reading and wasn’t actively wishing him away at this very moment. Maybe the stains would come out of his shirt this time. Maybe the TARDIS would just be waiting for him when they got to that street again and he’d be...safe? Free? Home. 

The Doctor ran a hand down his face.

“You can read, too, if you want,” Angel said without looking up.

The Doctor glanced up, studying Angel’s nearly motionless form. Perhaps, he dared to hope, Angel didn’t _completely_ hate him just yet. Who offered books to people they didn’t like? Especially a choice of any in a whole collection of paper books in a time when they hardly existed anymore? He decided on a whim that reading sounded like a fantastic plan. “I think I will,” he informed Angel, and stood again. 

Angel grunted.

The Doctor decided to interpret that as, “No, really, Doctor, I’m concerned that you’re not enjoying yourself entirely and want to be sure that you have something to keep your brilliant mind busy.” He spoke _Angel_ now.

He was feeling better already. The Doctor strode over to the bookcase and beamed at it. Not only was it full of books, but it was full of books that he hadn’t read already. He read the titles over twice. Unable to make a decision, he closed his eyes and snatched a book at random off of the shelf. 

It was old and written in Latin and had a nice weight and smell to it. Pleased with the result, the Doctor trotted back to the couch and flopped onto it. He took some time to get comfortable and ran his fingers over the cover, taking in its age. The pages were very old, so he was going to have to flip the pages slowly so he didn’t damage it. 

It took a full ten minutes, and by the end of the book, the Doctor wasn’t quite sure if it was supposed to be an instruction manual or a sitcom. “Journals are great,” he said, setting the book on the table. 

Angel looked up. “You finished it?” he asked, clearly trying to tone down the incredulity.

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

Angel glanced at the book and then back at the Doctor. “It’s over 300 pages.”

It was 489 pages counting the odd bits in the back that no one really read. “Yup,” the Doctor agreed. He paused, wondering why Angel was looking at him like that. Oh, wait, reading books by flipping through them often set off people’s...well, they thought it was weird. “If I read it out loud it slows me down a bit,” he said. 

Angel shifted and stared at the Doctor an extra moment. “I have an extended eidetic memory, so I can read fast when I want to,” he said after a moment. “But I like the process of reading each word. It’s...relaxing.”

The Doctor nodded, pleased that they’d found something in common. “It is,” he agreed. “That’s why I read them out loud sometimes, even if there’s no one to read to.” Well, sometimes he read to the TARDIS, but people thought that was weird, too.

Angel shifted like sliding out from under the conversation. “I have more journals if you’re interested.”

The Doctor grinned and rolled off of the couch. A minute later he returned with three books that he had selected purely for the complementary colors of their bindings. As he gently pulled open the first book he thought that maybe he wasn’t _deathly_ allergic to Angel’s apartment. 

After another moment, Angel said almost too softly from behind his book, “Thanks.”

The Doctor glanced up and wondered if he asked what he was being thanked for if it would somehow ruin it. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t actually done anything yet. He’d taken a measurement that Angel hadn’t been pleased about before and he’d greatly exaggerated the likelihood of his being able to summon the TARDIS using a machine that had briefly scratched the surface of her consciousness. He scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t do anything,” he admitted. 

Angel shifted in his seat and remained hidden behind his thick tome. “You’re being careful with my books,” he said. “I appreciate that.”

Oh. The Doctor glanced at the book in his hands. “Books have always been good to me,” he said. “I’ve always been sure to return the favor.” 

Angel lowered his book enough to look at the Doctor, and he caught a glint that might be something like a smile in Angel’s eye. Then Angel disappeared again, leaving the Doctor not-quite alone with his book.


	4. Drinking and Maths

Angel was distracted.

This was not a good thing when speaking with a Traxian, whose language was so complex that one syllable could change an entire paragraph of friendly greetings to a tirade of hostile insults. Angel made sure to nod to indicate that he understood, even though he was simultaneously wondering exactly what the Doctor’s calculations were telling him about the location of the TARDIS. And Judith.

“I’d like another!” the Doctor called from the booth at the back of the Dragon’s Crown. He tapped the table next to the sheet of paper that he’d actually ordered at the bar. Angel had tried to look like he didn’t know him.

“ _No, of course,_ ” Angel replied to the Traxian, devoting every last ounce of attention he had to conjugating his verbs correctly. “ _Your shipment will have safe passage through my sewers. So long as you keep your end and none of your people go above ground during transit, there won’t be a problem._ ”

“ _Excellent,_ ” the Traxian replied. “ _My gratitude to you. May your nights be filled with jewels like stars and your days be filled with gold like the sun._ ”

“ _The same to you,_ ” Angel replied, standing up. They shook hands and the Traxian lumbered off.

“Angel! You have to see this!” the Doctor called. “It’s possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Several of the Dragon’s Crown’s patrons turned to look at Angel, and he hastily glared at the Doctor. He made a point to finish the last bit of whiskey in his glass and nod to Marty for another one before making his way over to the Doctor’s table. Angel did not sit down when he reached it, but instead leaned over as if he were only vaguely interested and humoring the Doctor.

Come on, he had his reputation to maintain, which had been gasping on its deathbed since he’d agreed to See for the Powers That Be. He had been half-expecting a revocation of his membership to weekly kitten poker games for years, now.

“What?” Angel asked.

The Doctor slid his piece of paper across the table so Angel could look at it. It was covered in lines upon lines of circles. “This,” the Doctor said, pointing to the middle of the page, “just look at it! I haven’t had to do maths this complicated in _years_. It’s a work of art, Angel, it really is.” 

Angel continued to glare at the Doctor, the bit of hope that the Doctor might finally tell him when and where Judith went deflating rapidly. He stood up again and turned to find the Kong-Gai that was supposed to report back to him about the Mird he was trying to track for going after humans just a few blocks from his flat.

“Marty! You are a hero, my good man,” the Doctor said behind him. Apparently Marty had been kind enough to locate more paper for the Doctor to work on. “Keep ‘em coming, my friend. Keep ‘em coming.” 

Angel took the whiskey that Marty handed to him with a grateful nod and considered downing it all at once.

“I’ve changed my mind,” the Doctor said. “ _This_ is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Angel swallowed his shot whole and promptly remembered why he hated doing that with whiskey. He shuddered and handed the glass back to Marty.

“Another, sir?” Marty asked.

Angel screwed up his face a bit and shook his head.

“Very good,” Marty said, then left.

The Kong-Gai was not in at the moment, so Angel went to sit at the bar and ended up nursing an ice water just to have something to drink. Angel glared at the bottles on the wall across from him. Not because he was particularly angry at the bottles, but because he had been perpetually glaring all evening and the bottles simply happened to be in the way.

He missed Judith.

Angel was not expecting this. He did not like things he did not expect. 

It was the third day since she’d been gone--hardly their longest separation; in fact, several days (or even several weeks) normally passed between seeing each other. Angel glared harder at the bottles, as if trying to convince them instead of himself that he was worried because she was his _friend_ , and not because she was...whatever she was now. If this had all happened two weeks ago, before they had...they _had_...he would be the exact same amount of worried.

He nodded sharply at the bottles of alcohol as if to say, _So there._

Or perhaps it was the not knowing that made him so anxious. Sure, the Doctor claimed she was still safe in the TARDIS and on her way back to them at that moment, but Angel didn’t completely trust the Doctor on this, and with good reason. After all, the TARDIS had a vicious side, too, and the Doctor had a little problem with honesty.

Angel let out a long, slow breath. He _hated_ not being able to do anything. If the Doctor didn’t bring him some good news soon, he was going actually try to extend the standard locator spell to include time. He thought he’d mostly figured it out - replace the map with a clock and the salt with sand - but it was the bit between “mostly” and “certainly” that he was worried about. He would rather not blow up his flat, if he could help it.

The Kong-Gai Angel had been waiting for slid into the seat next to him and ordered a cherry martini. Angel was glad they weren’t acknowledging each other for this particular transaction: He was too distracted to put much energy into conversing.

Angel waited while the Kong-Gai let a few minutes pass before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and choosing one to light. Angel finished his water, letting the Kong-Gai enjoy his first few drags, then asked if the Kong-Gai could spare one. 

“Better yet,” the Doctor said, leaning in and putting an arm around both Angel and the Kong-Gai, “do you have a spare pencil? The eraser’s gone on mine.” 

Angel had to work very hard to suppress the urge to punch the Doctor. 

“Doctor,” Angel growled.

“I know _you_ don’t have one,’ the Doctor admitted. “Just wanted to include you...but you, sir,” the Doctor turned to the Kong-Gai. “You look like a chap with a pencil. I’ve got a seventh sense about these things.” 

The Kong-Gai stared at the Doctor in bewilderment for a moment, and then reached inside its coat pocket and withdrew a No. 2 pencil. He held it up for the Doctor.

The Doctor grinned and clapped the Kong-Gai on the back. “Wonderful!” he exclaimed, snatching the pencil. “And No. 2. A man of taste, I see. The classics never really get old. Thank you.” The Doctor spun away and returned to his corner where he slid into the booth and leaned over the paper again. 

Angel gave a half-sigh, half-growl. “I’m going to kill him,” he muttered.

“I thought he was under your protection?” the Kong-Gai asked quietly, without looking at Angel. “You had it spread all over town.”

Angel had, the night before. He’d been irritated at the Doctor, but Angel wasn’t so petty as to not extend the same protection to the Doctor as he did all of his friends just because he was annoyed and worried and in pain.

Well, okay, sometimes Angel _was_ that petty, but he also wanted to keep things in his control, and things stayed in control when the Doctor wasn’t messed with.

Angel glared at the Kong-Gai. “He’s not safe from _me_ ,” he said. “I’ll kill him if I want to.”

The Kong-Gai shifted nervously and handed Angel a cigarette, which actually contained a message instead of tobacco, which Angel would read later. Angel took it and stowed it in his inside coat pocket. He paused. “Spare another one?” he asked, and the Kong-Gai obliged, with a real one this time.

Angel set several bills on the table as if paying for his tab, which the Kong-Gai would later slip into his pocket as if stealing. It was a well-practiced method they had, and the Doctor had just ruined the stealth of it all.

“ _He gave us a reason to talk,_ ” the Kong-Gai clicked quietly in his own language. “ _Seemed kind of nice to me..._ ” He hunched over his ashtray, as if afraid that Angel would retaliate.

Angel hesitated for a moment, guilt seeping into all the other unpleasant emotions within him. Merl, the parasite demon Angel used to buy (and torture) information from centuries ago, flashed up in Angel’s mind, the guilt matching. It got worse as he remembered Merl’s remains splattered all over his sewer apartment.

Angel glanced at the Kong-gai and replied, also quietly in the Kong-gai’s language, “ _He is a nice guy. Just don’t spread it around that I think so._ ”

The Kong-gai’s mouth twitched in acknowledgement, and Angel left, feeling a little less guilty.

The Doctor was still pouring over his circles when Angel slid into the seat opposite him.

“What’cha trading, over there?” the Doctor asked, his new pencil running along the edges of a circle. He flipped the pencil over and erased one of the smaller circles inside of it and redrew it halfway out of the larger circle, like it was trying to escape. 

“Information,” Angel replied, choosing a match from the book on the table and lighting it.

“Love...information,” the Doctor said, his voice trailing off momentarily in concentration as the circles poured farther down the page. “He seemed nice,” he commented as he seemed to reach another stopping point. 

Angel shook the match out after his cigarette had lit and took a deep breath, relaxing for the first time all evening. “I hadn’t noticed,” Angel replied. He had known the Kong-Gai for several years and had hired him to find a wide range of people, things, and bits of information for him, and their relationship had remained strictly professional. “Until now.”

“That’s too bad,” the Doctor said. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and looked at it for a moment. He put it back and glanced down at the paper. “No...” he mumbled to himself and erased a bump in another circle. “So we adjust for the planetary gravitational pull...” 

Angel leaned back in his seat and watched the Doctor while he smoked his cigarette. Angel half-wondered if the Doctor was going to end up driving him to pick up the habit completely again if he stayed much longer.

Not that there wasn’t something fascinating about the Doctor. Angel had always prided himself on his own ability to read people, but the Doctor often remained just outside of his grasp, and that set Angel on edge. 

For instance, the Doctor was a puppy. He acted like one, and Angel could almost always expect him to act that way. He should have anticipated that the Doctor would come blundering happily into his conversation and request a stick. 

But. 

The Doctor leaned a bit closer to the paper, his pencil filling in the larger circles with smaller ones and as he did, the mask slipped and Angel could see the the intelligence in his eyes, the seriousness of his expression, and the precision in his movements. 

Angel liked masks. He wore one himself. Angelus liked to tear them off other people. 

But he didn’t really like masked people _living_ with him and messing with his carefully-laid social structures and routines. Especially not when he was that worried his own mask was slipping. It was Angel’s experience that masked people tended to take advantage of the vulnerable, and though the Doctor had always acted in a trustworthy, I-really-do-want-to-save-everybody manner, Angel knew that there was something dark underneath that. He was positive that the Doctor was going to keep surprising him, and he didn’t know if those surprises were going to be pleasant or horrifying.

“Earth,” the Doctor said suddenly, flipping over the paper to glance at the calculations on the other side. 

“What?”

The Doctor flipped the paper over again, scanning it over quickly. “Earth.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “She’s on Earth. Look.” He pointed at the paper, running his finger along a circle and Angel leaned over to look. “Some of this would have dissipated more quickly if she’d made a planetary jump. The space between planets disperses temporal energy.” The Doctor moved his finger to the next circle, “And this one...” 

“I got it,” Angel said, intensely relieved. He gave a small smile. “She’s on Earth,” he repeated. Angel looked up. “When?”

“Er...” the Doctor said, squinting at the paper, “Somewhere between...the 16th and 27th...” 

“Today’s the 28th,” Angel interrupted.

“...centuries,” the Doctor finished, looking like he was regretting it already. 

Angel’s shoulders fell. “Oh.” He cursed under his breath. At least Genghis Khan and dinosaurs were out.

“I’ll be able to get a better estimate with another measurement,” the Doctor said quickly. 

Angel sighed. “Another 24 hours?”

“36. The ripples get bigger as they move out.” 

Angel cursed again and wondered if the Furies might have any connections with useful deities. He was due a visit to them anyway. And then it occurred to Angel like a slap to the head that he had another source: one that was actually in his physical head. Why hadn’t the Powers sent him a vision about this? He’d been working for them for 15 years, now, didn’t he earn courtesies like that? He took a deep drag of his cigarette.

“Mmm...” the Doctor agreed, tracing over a particularly bumpy circle. 

“So what will you do in the meantime?” Angel asked, watching him.

The Doctor curled the edge of the paper up and flattened it again. “Well...I’ll...” the Doctor looked around like he’d find something to do in the Dragon’s Crown. 

“Mm-hm,” Angel said. He thought so.

The Doctor sniffed. “What are you going to do, then?” he said huffily. 

Angel shifted in his seat and took another drag before replying, “I don’t know yet.” It was true. He had yet to decide how he was going to contact the Powers in any way beyond shouting at the sky, and if (more like _when_ , Angel thought realistically) they wouldn’t help, he would need to decide which book he was going to consult if the locator spell failed. 

“Tell me if you figure it out,” the Doctor said, folding the papers in half and tucking them neatly into his pocket. 

“Right,” Angel said, about as truthfully as the Doctor whenever he said it. He flicked off some ash into the ashtray a bit more deliberately than normal. The word ‘Arcadia’ floated to mind.

“Right,” the Doctor agreed, watching him from across the table. 

Angel shifted again. “So… Now what?”

“I didn’t know you smoked,” the Doctor said, ignoring (or possibly avoiding) Angel’s question. 

Angel glanced at the nearly burnt-out cigarette in his hand and realized he probably should have asked before lighting up. “Occasionally,” Angel answered. “When I’m stressed. It’s not like it kills me...” He leaned back in his seat. “Sorry if it bothers you.”

The Doctor considered Angel and his cigarette for a long moment and then he leaned back and shrugged. “Makes sense...” he allowed. “And I don’t mind. I don’t think second hand smoke will kill me.” There was an oddly dark twinkle in his eyes to go with the twitch of a smile. 

Angel watched the expression curiously for a moment, but decided not to comment on it. He took a breath, “I used to smoke all the time in the ‘50’s. The 1950’s,” he clarified, though he probably didn’t need to. “But doing laundry all the time to get rid of the smell was...annoying. So I switched back to alcohol, as far as mind-altering substances go.”

“How often do you need to alter your mind?” 

“Need or want?” Angel asked.

"How often do you...really want," the Doctor decided. "Eliminate boredom as a reason." 

Angel thought about his answer. It seemed odd that he’d never thought about his drug habits in any quantitative way. He just...did it when it seemed right. “A few times a week, I guess,” he finally said. “If we’re including when I ‘really want’ to be social. Poker nights, and such.”

"Huh," the Doctor said. His fingers toyed with his pencil, rolling it along the table without looking at it. 

Starting to feel judged, Angel shifted and asked, “What about you?”

"Oh, I always feel social," the Doctor said. "There isn't much that isn't improved by having a friend to share it with." He looked down at the pencil, his expression turning serious again. Angel had to wonder if his emotions were connected at all to what he was talking about and not just selected at random from an internal lottery.

Angel ground out the remains of the cigarette in the ashtray, regretting having lit it in the first place. Honestly, the Doctor had been sitting in a demon bar for most of an hour and hadn't ordered anything beyond paper to do maths on. He was obviously a teetotaler. And probably a… A whatever the smoking equivalent of a teetotaler was.

“Is that why you went back for Rose?” Angel asked, shoving the ashtray and the entire topic of mind-altering substances out of the way.

A smile pulled at the side of the Doctor's mouth. "I guess it was in a way. I knew I needed her. She certainly improved my life."

“Yeah?” Angel said, interested. “Can I ask how?”

The Doctor considered for just a moment and then tapped the pencil on the table twice before tucking it away in his jacket pocket. "Rose was...alive," he said with a smile that seemed equal parts wistfully happy and deeply sad. "She had this natural curiosity about everything and she'd just jump in. No matter how it looked. It made me see everything with new eyes again. I could think of places to go and it wasn't pointless because _Rose_ hadn't seen it before. She woke me up." The Doctor reached up and adjusted the tilt of his bow tie with one hand.

Angel couldn’t help but smile a little. He knew that feeling well. “Did you two have a thing?” he asked.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows slightly, his forehead wrinkling. "A...thing?" he said, like it was a word he didn't know.

“Yeah,” Angel nodded. “A thing. Did you…?” He rolled his wrist, hoping that would convey his obvious meaning.

The Doctor watched Angel's hand suspiciously before suddenly inhaling. "I don't think...nah. No. Hey! This is a _bar_ , isn't it?”

Standing abruptly, the Doctor waved across the bar. “Marty!” he called, “Marty! Might it be too much if I asked for an actual drink on top of all of that paper?” The Doctor bounded off to the bar, grinning and calling out questions about menus. 

If _that_ wasn’t an indication that they definitely had, Angel didn’t know what was.

He stood up and walked over to the bar to order another drink himself, nodding once to Marty to let him know he wanted the usual.

The Doctor was studying the menu intently. He flipped it over several times, examining the back of the paper like it might have held some sort of treasure map. He had spent less time reading that 300-page book. 

“Er...” the Doctor said, flipping the paper over again, “I think...Shirley Temple. I met her once: surprisingly friendly given the section of the galaxy she came from.” 

Angel eyed the Doctor out of the corner of his eye. “Take it easy,” he said, deadpan. “I don’t want you retching all over my hardwood floors tonight.” Also confirmed: the Doctor was definitely a teetotaler.

The Doctor grinned back at him and then returned to pestering Marty about what drinks came with little umbrellas as opposed to little swords. It turned out that Marty only had toothpicks, but the Doctor seemed willing to soldier on, nonetheless. 

Angel took the drink that Marty gave him and gathered his thoughts while the Doctor chatted on to his neighbor, to Marty, and to no one in particular. 

Angel wondered how the Doctor could speak for such long amounts of time hardly sparing a breath. If Angel tried to do that, his words would eventually become his thoughts out loud (he knew this from experience with Cordelia), bypassing the careful filter he very purposefully maintained just so the world would not have to hear his thoughts and so he wouldn’t have to see the world’s reaction if it did.

Angel was quite sure that the Doctor maintained a similar filter for similar reasons. So where did all this fluff about the unusual pets of Traxatoria come from?

“To pterogons!” the Doctor enthusiastically clinked glasses with his neighbor, the Traxian that Angel had been talking with earlier. “Loyal to the end...of their feeding trough.”

The Traxian laughed uproariously (there was actually some roaring), and cracked his pint of beer against the Doctor’s glass before downing the whole thing. Also laughing, the Doctor turned to Angel and offered his glass to clink. 

Angel did automatically and was about to drink when his phone rang, startling him with the buzzing in his back pocket and on the ring on his left middle finger. He pulled his Palm from his pocket so he could answer without speaker phone and saw that William was calling him.

“Damn, I forgot,” he muttered to himself. He answered and pressed the device to his ear. “Hey, Will,” Angel said, “your mother’s missing.”

"Yeah, Angel have you heard from-- _missing_?" Will said, his voice went from trying-to-stay-calm to totally-not-calm in an instant. "Where is she? I'll come down. What happened?"

“No, you don’t have to,” Angel said quickly. “She’s--” But then Angel remembered that his confidence in the Doctor’s assertions that she was ‘fine’ and ‘on Earth’ and ‘probably coming home soon’ was middling at best. He wondered how much he should lie to keep William calm or if he should actually tell William to come down and help him magic Judith home. Then he remembered how the Doctor had once referred to Judith as ‘Angel’s girlfriend,’ and kept giving him knowing glances when her name came up (or was Angel just imagining that?) and that was _not_ how Angel wanted William to find out that he was sleeping with his mother. If at all. So Angel said,

“She’s completely fine, Will. She should be back any day now. Don’t worry about her at all, okay? We’ve got this.”

The Doctor turned from his joking and looked at Angel questioningly.

"Back from where?" Will said. His tone was the same level of quietly demanding that Judith's usually was when she wanted a precise answer to one of her questions and wouldn't accept any substitutes.

“Uhh--” Angel glanced back at the Doctor warily. “She kinda stole a spaceship that also travels in time,” he mumbled like divulging a secret. “Or a timeship that also travels in space?” He raised a questioning eyebrow at the Doctor. “She’s definitely on Earth. Apparently.”

"She _will be_ on Earth," the Doctor corrected. "Right now she's in the Time Vortex, which isn't so much a location as a, well, if location were a point, then the Vortex would be a vector but, you know, not...like that at all. If it helps."

Angel rolled his eyes as William asked, “Who is that?”

“The guy who owns the ship,” Angel replied. “Look, Will, we’re working on finding her, okay? I’ll let you know if we need help.”

“Okay,” William said, sounding uncertain. “It would have been nice to know, you know.” Angel made a noise of agreement, but before he could come up with the words to apologize, William continued, his words catching up with his thoughts, “Well, at least now I know why she hasn’t been answering… So how long has she been...uh...in the Time Vortex?”

“A few days,” Angel replied. “The calculations and - uh - measurements and whatever apparently take a while…” He shot a glare at the Doctor like it was his fault that physics worked the way it did. The Doctor winced, like he was at least embarrassed by physics working the way they did. 

“A few _days?_ ” William repeated. “What about work? Have you called her in sick?”

Angel cursed under his breath again. “I’ll go talk to her boss,” he promised. “I’ll...come up with something.”

"Oh, tell her she won a free cruise!" the Doctor suggested. Pleased with his answer, he sipped his drink.

“That would never work,” Angel said at the same time as William laughed. “Judith’s way too responsible to just take off without telling anyone. Now, who could be dying…?”

“ _Maimeó,_ ” William said immediately. “She could be dying.”

“Yeah,” Angel agreed. “Yeah, that sounds good. Where does she live again?”

“Limerick,” William replied. “And that works really well since my uncle just died, too: it’s extra traumatic. I mean...you know, in a sad way…”

“Right, of course,” Angel agreed again. “Nice and tragic.”

The Doctor nodded along with the plan.

“I’ll keep you updated,” Angel promised. William thanked him, and they hung up.

Stuffing his Palm back in his pocket, Angel glanced at the Doctor and said, “Judith’s son. Forgot to warn him she wouldn’t be answering her phone...”

The Doctor nodded again. “We’ll get her back,” he said seriously. “I promise.” 

Angel was caught between wanting to seriously thank the Doctor (because it _was_ oddly reassuring to hear it when the Doctor wasn’t acting like a complete child) and not wanting to look like he was as anxious as he was about it. So he shrugged like it was no big deal, said “Thank you,” like it kind of was a big deal, and added to round out the mixed-signal-giving, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Of course not,” the Doctor agreed with an expression so overly serious Angel was pretty sure he’d come to the exact opposite conclusion. The Doctor added a little bob of his head with a little smile that completely confirmed that he thought Angel _was_ dating Judith and was just trying to not mention it out loud. 

Annoyed, Angel added, “I don’t even know where you got that idea.”

The Doctor shrugged innocently. “I pay attention,” he said. He sipped at the pink Shirley Temple and set it down on the bar. “I think she’s great. Anyone who would steal a TARDIS has _great_ taste.” 

A knot twisted in Angel’s stomach and he turned toward his drink, wrapping both hands around the glass. For the past few weeks, he’d been trying to drown his low-key panic that he kept initiating these encounters with Judith - despite his own ground rule before the first one that it be just the one time - with the thrill of something new and unexpected happening. It was getting harder and harder to keep that panic underwater when he could no longer indulge the thrill and when the Doctor kept hauling it up like this; talking about it like it was anything near intentional or normal, like they’d simply fallen in love and it was still new.

But Angel wasn’t about to tell the Doctor any of that - not when he hadn’t even had the courage to bring it up with Judith. So he said a strained, “Yeah,” and took a deep sip of his scotch.

They sat in silence, which wore on the Doctor as much as it calmed Angel. He fidgeted. “What about vacation though?” he said out of the blue. 

Angel raised an eyebrow. 

“Why can’t Judith be on vacation?” the Doctor asked. Apparently, in the silence, he’d started to work on the last problem presented to him. 

Angel grunted. “She wouldn’t just win a cruise and not tell anyone.”

The Doctor tapped at the side of his glass. “I had a friend who did office work,” he said. 

Angel had a hard time believing that anyone who “did office work” was actually the Doctor’s friend. Angel interpreted this as the Doctor having spoken at an office worker long enough that he had assumed that they were friends. 

But the Doctor seemed excited by his idea now. He leaned forward. “And she used to say that so long as it’s on the records, no one can argue about it. There’s records for _everything_ , Angel. You know, when people are on vacation and off having adventures and things. Really useful information sometimes. Most of the time I can’t be bothered, but it was nice to have. There was this time where we figured out an alien invasion because Donna said no one was taking any sick days.” 

The Doctor took a breath like he was about to explain the alien invasion. 

Angel held up his hand. “Point?” he asked. 

Deflating, the Doctor let out his invasion-storytelling breath and inhaled some more serious air. “We pop into the hospital computer system and tell it that Judith isn’t on the schedule. She’s on vacation.” 

It seemed too simple. But the more Angel thought about it, the more he liked it. He wouldn’t have to explain anything to anyone. Just leave the lie to the cold, hard “facts” of a schedule on a computer. “Can you do that?” he asked. 

The Doctor spread his arms and grinned. “I’m the Doctor,” he said. “I think I can fudge a few numbers on a calendar.” 

For the first time, all of the Doctor’s constant fussing with technology seemed less useless. Angel leaned forward too. “So...what do we do? Go to the hospital? Hack into the system?” 

The Doctor held out his hand. “Give me your Palm,” he said. 

Angel handed over the device from his pocket, leaving the ring in place on his finger. The Doctor asked a few questions about where Judith worked and after a moment held up the screen to show Angel the hospital web page. “That’s the one,” Angel said. 

With this confirmation, the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and directed it at the Palm. He squinted at the screen as it quickly flashed through pages. “I don’t understand why HR is so complicated,” the Doctor complained. 

“Maybe because it’s _human_ resources?” Angel guessed. Humans seemed to complicate _everything_.

“Must be,” the Doctor agreed. Some additional prodding later and he said, “Ah! Got it! Schedules. How about a...week. Two?” he looked up at Angel. “Can’t be more than two,” he said quickly. 

“Do you really think it’ll take two weeks to find her?” Angel asked, his heart sinking at the prospect.

“No! Definitely not,” the Doctor said, looking back down at the Palm. “I’m going to make it two just in case,” he said under his breath. A minute later he slid his sonic screwdriver back into his jacket pocket and slid Angel’s Palm back across the table. 

“That’s it?” Angel asked, blinking at his phone. “That was easy.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Sure. Now the computer thinks Judith is on vacation. It should convince everyone else for us. Assuming they’re not paying too much attention.” He sipped his drink and set it aside. “Hopefully they don’t have a Donna. She explained to me once how rude it was to take too much vacation at one time. I don’t remember how much that was though. I sort of...tuned it out.” 

Chuckling, Angel replied, "You? Tune someone out? Meaning someone else out-talked you? That's very impressive."

The Doctor laughed, nodding with a wistful smile. “Yeah,” he said, “she was great.” 

Angel played idly with his Palm where it still rested on the counter and something else occurred to him. "If people are trying to call her…" he said slowly, "and not getting through…" He picked up his Palm, dialed Judith's number, and held it to his ear. It went straight to voicemail. Angel hung up before the beep and looked at the Doctor. "Can you forward her messages to me? Just in case there's anyone else we have to...change her schedule for, so to speak? Something we haven’t thought of?"

The Doctor nodded again. “Sure,” he said. Angel passed the Palm back and the Doctor set to work with his sonic screwdriver again. Several passing demons gave them dirty looks at the noise, but didn’t comment. “It’s a bit invasive,” the Doctor said, passing the Palm back. “But so’s stealing my TARDIS I guess.” 

"I think she'll understand the practicality of it," Angel said. "I hope. I just want to feel like we've got some control over _something_."

Letting out a sigh, the Doctor lifted his glass and set it down again. He pushed it aside. After a quiet moment he smiled. “Hey,” he said, still grinning, “I think for the first time in my life, I’ve done the paperwork on time.” 

"Congratulations," Angel told him, lifting up his glass in a toast. "That's some accomplishment."

The smile grew, lighting up the Doctor’s face. He clapped a hand on Angel’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “So,” he said, “do you want to get out of here?” 

Angel turned and raised an amused eyebrow at his phrasing. “Sure, doll. My place or yours?”

The Doctor blinked, clearly missing the joke. “Uhh...yours?” he said. 

Angel deflated a bit. “I swear I used to be funny,” he murmured. He raised his glass to his lips and finished his drink before standing up.

Leaving his glass half-finished on the bar, the Doctor took a few steps toward the door before he turned to say goodbye to Marty and several other ‘friends’ he’d made at the bar. And several people who’d only just arrived. 

Angel did his best to glower respectably as they left.

~~~~~~

In the past 15 years, on the rare occasion that Angel needed to contact the PTB directly, he called Cordelia. “Call” was more of a metaphorical term, since Cordy lived in a parallel dimension and that was just a little far for their phones to connect, but she had given him a little device about the size and shape of a river-worn stone, only deep purple and translucent. He could murmur a certain set of words in a language he didn’t know to this stone and it would glow softly, causing its pair with Cordy to glow, too. She had promised to come as soon as she saw it glowing, assuming she wasn’t on mission.

But calling Cordelia to come be his direct conduit for the PTB so that he could ask them how to rescue the woman he was currently sleeping with was just a little much for Angel to handle just then.

So Angel did his own fact-finding and struck home on his first attempt. Remembering that the access portal in L.A. had been under the post office, he decided to poke around underneath the post offices of Galway in search for similar access points.

He brought the Doctor with him. He wouldn’t necessarily have chosen to bring the Doctor with him, but the Doctor was there ( _always_ there) and asked what Angel was up to as he put on his coat to go out, so Angel invited him along, figuring he could probably help search, if nothing else.

They were all the way in Old Town before the Doctor stopped chatting long enough to ask where they were going, having enthusiastically agreed to going out without knowing where.

“The oldest post office in Galway,” Angel replied. “Actually, it might be the only post office. Pretty much everything is digital these days… Except those damn coupon fliers…”

"You know someone even delivered one to the TARDIS once," the Doctor said, sounding impressed. "They, uh, had a dollar off fish fingers." He added this bit as a point of interest, Angel had to assume because he could not imagine the Doctor managing to have enough followthrough to clip a coupon, remember to bring it to the correct store at the correct time, and then remember what he was in the store for long enough to make a purchase. 

Also, Angel wasn’t sure the Doctor knew how money worked. 

“The postal service does have a reputation to maintain for getting people’s mail to them…” Angel replied, steering the conversation away from coupons. He was amazed that something had actually gotten delivered to that ship. “Hey! What if we mailed something to Judith and...you know....followed it?”

“A good plan,” the Doctor said sagely, “but they’d just wait for the TARDIS to show up in the future. They play the long game." He added this last bit with a hint of admiration. 

Angel deflated. “Oh. I guess it was a long shot.” They paused in front of the post office; a building so old the brick was crumbling. There was a plaque out front describing its historical significance to passersby, which the Doctor read with some interest. The inside of the building was dark, but it had been built before the kind of sewer systems that Angel could walk around in, so there wasn’t really an “underneath” with this post office, but it was worth a poke around the outside. 

“Okay,” Angel said, looking at the building and decided to head for the tiny alley just to its right, “let me know if you find anything weird.”

The Doctor nodded, his eyes darting over the building again before he followed Angel into the alley with his hands tucked into his pockets. The alley was so narrow they could barely walk without twisting their shoulders slightly, and Angel noticed nothing unusual until he came out to the courtyard behind the building.

It was paved with brick and there was a picnic table, a trash can, and a garden bed with a few bushes and dead weeds. There was something back here that made the hairs on the back of Angel’s neck stand up, but he couldn’t pinpoint what or where. He headed further into the courtyard to investigate.

A few steps in an ear splitting screech sounded behind him. It took a second for Angel to peg the sound as the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. Wincing, he turned to watch the Doctor turn, pointing it around the garden. It finally stopped and the Doctor examined the tip like it was giving him a readout.

He sniffed and dropped it to his side. "Sort of...ozone-y back here," he commented.

“Feels tingly, too,” Angel agreed. “Anything with the garden?”

The Doctor nodded between two old gnarled trees. "That's...reading as more normal than everything else. Suspiciously...normal."

Angel turned toward the trees and approached them. The hairs on his neck prickled again. He noticed a small stone birdbath set between the trees and recognized the worn Greek lettering etched into the rim. “Gateway for lost souls…” He grinned. “This is it.” Withdrawing the bag of herbs he’d prepared from his inside pocket and approaching the birdbath, he said to the Doctor, “This shouldn’t take too long.”

“What exactly?” the Doctor asked as he tucked the sonic screwdriver into his breast pocket. “Is there a signal if something goes wrong and I need to go in after you?” 

"Well, from what I understand, I'm jumping into a different realm," Angel replied, scooping leaves and other debris out of the birdbath, "so I think getting a signal back would be difficult." He paused, looking back at the Doctor. He was both a warrior and pure of heart - purer than Angel’s, at least. (Well, he had to be, didn’t he? He wasn’t part-demon.) "You could come if you like. I'm just going to ask my boss some questions. Shouldn't be dangerous."

There was a tiny part of Angel that worried that he’d been downgraded himself, now that he was a Seer and not a Champion. Doyle hadn’t been able to come with him his first time to see the oracles, after all. But Angel thought he probably would have been warned by the Powers if he was seeking them through improper and dangerous channels, so he was going to go for it. 

The Doctor brightened at the offer. “The boss?” he said, sounding impressed. “Yeah! Let’s go talk to the boss.”

Angel jerked his head for the Doctor to come stand next to him, which the Doctor did with an important swagger like a child pretending to be a cowboy. Angel held back a sigh and tossed small handfuls of the herbs he’d brought into the birdbath, saying, “We come before thee, Oracles, for guidance and direction. We beseech access to the Knowing Ones.” Then he struck a match, tossed it in, and the entire contents of the basin went up in flames. There was a bright flash of white light and suddenly, they were no longer in the courtyard.

They were standing in a room of marble, a few steps and columns in front of them. In fact, Angel was pretty sure it was the exact same room he had been in before. In front of them stood a humanoid figure with gold and blue skin. Angel recognized him as the same one he and Connor had talked to after Connor’s destiny had been taken.

“What have you brought me?” the oracle asked.

Angel dug into his pocket and pulled out a small jade tiger. “From the lost collection of Su Wen,” Angel said.

The tiger zoomed out of Angel’s hand and the oracle inspected it. “I have always enjoyed tigers,” the oracle said in an airy, mystical voice. “Hobbes is my favorite.” He pocketed the figurine. “What brings you here, Seer?”

“I’m seeking information,” Angel replied. “There is a ship that’s stuck in the time vortex. I want to know how to pull it out.”

The oracle’s mouth twitched and his eyes flicked to the Doctor. “I believe you already have all of the information you need,” he replied. “I never thought I would get to meet a _Time Lord_ …”

“We keep to ourselves,” the Doctor said, taking in the architecture, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I love your setup. It’s...secluded.” 

“Thank you,” the oracle said, seeming genuinely flattered. “I didn’t design it, but I did add my own flair here and there…”

“Have you been to Greece, or are you just a fan?” the Doctor asked. He wandered over to a pillar, ran a hand down it, and then rubbed his fingers together. 

“We made first contact with the women of Delphi,” the oracle replied. “This was to make them feel comfortable, and there was apparently no need to change…” The oracle said this in a way that made it sound like he’d lobbied for change and lost and was still bitter about it.

The Doctor made a face. “I would think that change is its own reward. Just because you slowed time doesn’t mean you can’t change the wallpaper.”

“Yes, _right?_ ” the oracle agreed fervently. His eyes lit up briefly and then suddenly became aloof, and even started running his sandaled toe along the floor. “You, ah…aren’t here to make a formal request about that, are you? Something I might need to take to management?”

The Doctor looked over his shoulder and then placed his hand on his chest. He frowned, considered, tipped his head and said, “Yeah, tell the management that I, as the last of the Time Lords, think that they should take more pride in their place of business.” 

The oracle cleared his throat seriously. “Yes, of course, I shall tell them that you said that straight away. Is there anything you would like to add? Perhaps regarding flying buttresses?”

The Doctor looked up at the ceiling. “They’re...” he scanned the oracle’s face, “...cool. Really cool right now.” 

The oracle nodded solemnly. “Duly noted,” he said in a low, serious tone. “The Powers thank you for your suggestion.”

“Okay,” Angel said, having had enough of this, “what about _my_ request?”

The oracle blinked at him. “I have told you. You have all the information you need.” He gestured toward the Doctor. The Doctor smiled like this was a compliment. 

“ _He_ doesn’t have all the information he needs!” Angel protested, and the Doctor nodded in agreement. 

“This is not a matter which concerns the order of balance,” the oracle replied patiently. “There is no information that we could give you to help you in your side quest.”

“ _Side quest?_ ” Angel practically shouted.

“I mean, I’d really appreciate it if you could maybe give me a hint,” the Doctor said. 

The oracle looked over at him, and his expression melted into sympathy. “I would very much like to,” he told the Doctor, “but since this doesn’t concern the Powers That Be, they have not gathered any information for me to give you. I’m truly sorry.”

The Doctor sighed. “Well, if you’ve done everything you can,” he said understandingly. 

The oracle nodded. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Time Lord. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will run your comments up to the head office straight away.”

Without waiting for a response, there was another flash of bright white light, and Angel and the Doctor were standing in the courtyard again. Angel called the Powers something rude under his breath.

"He seemed nice," the Doctor said. "Too bad they don't have anything to add." He looked around the garden. "But if you've never been here, how do they give you work? Or is it more of a hands-off kind of boss?"

“It’s more of a psychic kind of boss,” Angel replied, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to go. Angel realized that the Doctor hadn’t been there since Angel became a Seer for the Powers That Be, so he added, “I’m actually a Seer now. I get visions of people in trouble and pass those visions on to-- Well, to Calder. Used to be William, too, but he backed out of the Champion destiny.”

The Doctor followed a few steps behind. “Well....neat!” he said after they’d gone a few steps. “That does take some of the mystery out of problem-solving doesn’t it? Not that problems need mystery. It’s more of a matter of personal preference." 

Angel snorted. “No, they keep it plenty mysterious. Usually the vision is just, ‘Go here at this certain time and the problem will present itself.’ If there are any hints beyond that you know it’s a major case.”

The Doctor grinned, his eyes wide with excitement. "That's amazing! I love it! Do I?" he paused on the pavement. "I do," he decided. “It sounds like fun."

Angel paused, too, facing the Doctor. He had to think about whether or not he agreed. The decision had caused a fair amount of trouble for him, and he’d had to give up certain things in the underworld that he’d fought hard for. But then, sacrifice for the greater good was something Angel did almost compulsively. Looking back, once he’d realized it was an option, there was no way he wouldn’t have taken it, even though it had hurt.

“It’s purposeful,” Angel eventually said. “And occasionally fun.”

The Doctor slapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah it is!” he said. “Hey! How often do you get visions? We could probably solve a quick mystery before we turn in for the night.” 

Angel lifted his gaze up to the heavens and said, “Hear that? We’ve got some time… Anything?” He waited a moment before he looked back at the Doctor and shook his head. “Guess not.”

The Doctor let out a breath, his breath creating a small cloud in the cold air. “You know, your boss really doesn’t reward having a sense of initiative,” he complained. 

“Tell me about it,” Angel sighed, turning to head back toward home.


	5. The Washing Machine Gets What's Coming to It

On his fourth day staying with Angel, the Doctor hauled the washing unit out from the wall. It thudded onto the wood floor, scraping as he dragged it a bit farther out. He twirled his sonic screwdriver at it menacingly for a moment and then began the dissection with the removal of its protective outer shell. Once the innards were exposed, he only paused for the briefest of moments to consider what components might be salvaged for other projects before he began stripping the unit of everything that made it such a horrible washer.

If that happened to include things like the on/off switch and the plug that went into the wall, well, it wasn’t his fault it was so terrible. 

By the time Angel walked in, the Doctor had removed everything and had paused to consider reworking the (poorly named) main intelligence chip, or simply building one that might manage to rate as something other than completely, utterly stupid on the computer intelligence scale. “Got any high intensity torches, Angel?” he asked, holding the chip up to the light for a better look. 

Angel’s normally cool expression flared into shock, which was quickly followed by rage when he noticed the water puddling around his boots. “ _Doctor!_ ” Angel yelled, slamming the door shut behind him with his free hand, the other being occupied with a bag of something heavy-ish. “This. Is. _Wood!_ What the _hell_ are you doing?”

The Doctor recovered from the initial yell and even managed to not fall off of the edge of the couch where he was perched. He glanced at the floor. It was, in fact, wood. It was also covered in bits of machinery that had been crudely cobbled into something like a washing unit until he’d arrived to save it from itself. That made Angel’s initial comment extremely simple (something the Doctor didn’t think deserved shouting about) and his question equally simple (really, wasn’t it obvious?). 

“Fixing things,” the Doctor explained, in case Angel really was that stupid sometimes. He went back to squinting at the chip. “No torch, then? Nevermind, I’ll make do.” 

“Doctor,” Angel growled, clearly trying to keep his voice as even as possible. “This is _expensive_ wood. And you’ve _flooded_ it.” 

Well, that was an exaggeration. It was more like a medium-ish puddle. If that. It hadn’t even reached the rug under the sitting area - the Doctor glanced down at the floor again - yet. He dedicated an entire section of his many levels of thought to figuring out why this seemed to make Angel so mad (the expensive comment had to be a clue). Another section was dedicated to figuring out how likely it was that Angel was going to punch him again (a very unhealthy 89%). 

He stood up and slowly set the chip down on the table. “I’ll get a towel?” he tried. It occurred to him that Angel, as a vampire, might have issues with running water. Not that this water was running very much...

“Yeah you will,” Angel said sharply. “And you’ll also pay for the refinishing. And the replacement, if you’ve completely destroyed the planks.” Angel paused and glanced at all the machine parts scattered around the apartment. “And you’ll buy me a new washer.” Angel shook a finger in the Doctor’s direction for added measure. “And _then_ , you’ll leave my stuff the hell alone!”

Ah. So it was the finish then. The Doctor made it a point to school down his pleasure at solving _that_ little mystery into something that he only shared with himself. “You don’t need a new washer,” he explained again. “I’m fixing this one. Not that it’s much to work with, but I am brilliant.” 

“Fine,” Angel said shortly, and not very gratefully. “Just...clean up this mess and _hope_ it’s just the finish you’ve ruined.” With that, Angel stepped around the water toward his library and shut the door firmly behind him.

“Okay then...” the Doctor said in a very friendly manner at the door. It remained shut. “Towel then, I suppose,” he told himself, “always carry a towel.” 

~~~~~

Angel set his bag down on the small reading table beside his leather armchair and turned on the light, trying to shake the lingering anger at the state of his wood floor. He had more important things to concentrate on. Like temporal locator spells. 

He’d had a hell of a time finding this book, but he’d finally managed it through Ferguson, of all people. Family connections. Angel had paid an arm and a leg for it (well...a horn, actually), and he could only hope it’d be worth it. He stared at the cover for a moment, transfixed by the colors and texture of the binding that seemed to shift as subtly and smoothly as the northern lights.

Angel set the bag down on the floor and sat in his chair, crossing his ankle over his knee to use his leg as a prop for the large, slab-like book.

Temporal locator spells were near the front of the book, being one of the simpler spells one could do with multiple dimensions. And that was saying something, at an entire three pages long, not including the setup and ingredient list. Angel sighed. He’d have to go back out there for some of the ingredients that he kept in the apothecary table. He could do without the candles, but the five different types of small animal eyes were crucial. Angel had bought the more unusual ingredients on his way home--such as fawn blood--which were still in the bag, and he kept a few other things in overstock there in his library. Angel made a quick mental list of the things he would need from the waterlogged living room and then read the instructions a few times, hoping that a time would present itself when the Doctor would leave the room long enough for Angel to slip in and out unnoticed by his annoying insatiable curiosity to know about everything that happened around him, but no such time occurred.

Finally, he decided he had no other choice but to venture back out. Judith needed him to do this. Or so he justified to himself. Angel set the book on the reading table and stood up. He took an extra moment to steel himself, then walked over to the library door and opened it.

The Doctor was leaning against the far wall making adjustments to a piece of machinery in his lap. His eyes flicked up to Angel as he stepped into the room, but made no comment. He pulled a piece of metal off of the whole with a particularly violent twist. 

Angel eyed his wood floor. There was definitely a stain. He frowned at it, but decided that, for the moment, he could be the bigger person and ignore it. He went over to his apothecary table without a word and began opening drawers.

The Doctor leaned forward. He snatched a twisting piece of metal off of the floor and settled back against the wall. 

Crushed rose petals, eyes of newt, bat, eel, squirrel, and sparrow, and sand. And two candles, since Angel was there anyway. He closed the drawers and headed back toward the library, daring to hope that the Doctor might not comment.

The Doctor didn’t comment. He didn’t even look up again. 

Angel closed the door with a sharp, satisfying _click_ and breathed a slightly confused sigh of relief. He went to work setting things up on the floor of the library, taking care not to crush the eyes. They needed to see for him. 

The candles were easy. The crystal orb was easy. The perfect circle of sand around the orb and the candles wasn’t _too_ difficult (he’d had a lot of practice by then), but mixing the dozen-plus ingredients to a complete blend with an allotment of only seven clockwise spoon rotations was nearly impossible. Angel stared at the gloopy mess skeptically and wondered what would happen if he got it terribly wrong.

He held the mortar of lumpy, bloody paste in his right hand while his left cradled the book, and he began the chant softly--partly to stay under the hearing range of the Time Lord in the next room, and partly because the soothing lull of his own voice usually helped him concentrate on the words.

The candles flickered in the light, familiar, magical breeze that began almost immediately, and Angel relaxed. At least the deities involved in transdimensional matters were open to communication with him. The breeze grew stronger with each passing line, stirring the flames but not the sand, and, in consequence, stirring Angel’s hope. With the final line, he poured the mess of a potion over the orb and watched, utterly still with anticipation. 

The lumps of eyes slid around the surface of the orb with more force than gravity, twisting sideways and down and up, leaving streaks of bloody trails like a tangled knot of worms writhing over the stone.

When they stopped, the orb suddenly glowed, illuminating the trails from underneath, and Angel leaned forward to study them. He’d never actually read any temporal maps, but the book said that much of the reading relied on intuition. And Angel’s intuition was telling him what the Doctor had already insisted: that Judith wasn’t anywhere. Not Earth, not anywhere in time. She was in between, until she landed sometime on Earth between the 16th and 27th centuries.

But that was what he was trying to figure out: if time was relative and it was all happening at once (which he was pretty sure was the going theory these days), shouldn’t he be able to pinpoint when she _will_ land, once she left the Vortex?

Angel’s sharp eye caught something in the orb, under the trails of deer blood. He leaned so close his nose was nearly touching the stone, the scent of young blood radiating up into his face like heat. There was a movement inside the orb. A stormy, cloudy, chaotically dizzying movement, like a waterfall in a tunnel. It made Angel’s stomach turn nauseatingly, but he didn’t pull back until he’d gotten a thorough enough look at it.

He needed to see the place his instincts were telling him that Judith was.

When the image was burned into Angel’s brain deep enough to bring the swooping stomach sensation with the simple memory of it, he sat up again and blew out the candles. Angel sat there for several minutes, thinking. The whole exercise had been both more than helpful and less than helpful, and Angel wasn’t sure where to go next.

Angel broke the stillness to start the cleanup process. He stowed the leftover ingredients in the lower cabinets of his bookshelves along with the candles, and carefully set the sticky orb and soiled mortar into the paper bag. He stood up, holding the bag, and glanced at the door. He’d made it once.

Angel opened the door and didn’t even glance at the Doctor as he slipped into his bedroom to wash the orb and mortar in the sink. After setting them in the tub to dry, Angel pulled out the small nearly-silent handheld vacuum cleaner from the bathroom closet and made his way back to the library to clean up the sand. Once done, Angel stood looking at the spotless place on the floor and sighed deeply. He _would_ figure this out.

Angel picked up the book from the floor and sat down once again in his chair to search for any more potentially useful spells.

~~~~~

The Doctor had located the towel with relative ease and applied it to the floor with a bit more difficulty as he had to keep moving bits of machine out of the way. “I don’t see why you’d make a floor out of something so easy to damage,” he told the towel, which was apparently his only friend at the moment. The floor was a bit stained, now that he looked at it. 

He dropped the sodden towel back off in the bathroom and then wandered back out to the living room. For a brief moment he paused by the library door and considered knocking on it. He could tell Angel that the wood was fine and did not need to be replaced entirely. 

He thought better of it and wandered back to the chip. It was still...stupid. With a light flick of his wrist he tossed it over his shoulder into the mess behind him. 

The whole project had lost its appeal. Not that he was going to admit that Angel was right and that he really should just get a new one. In a couple thousand years they’d actually start making Bubble 60’s, which were, as far as clothes washing was concerned, absolute works of art. 

He wandered over to the bookshelf instead and plucked the psy-dimensional lock up from where he’d placed it for safekeeping. He nudged it with his mind, tried to follow the link that it had made with the TARDIS, waited for a response from her, a whisper, a nudge, even a tiny echo of a ripple that he knew he’d recognize if it came from the old girl. 

Nothing. 

He wanted to break something, but figured with a glance at the library door that he’d probably broken enough for one day. So he gave the lock another kiss, peeling off another tiny piece of his psyche (which twinged a good bit on top of the spark) and sliding it into the lock’s matrix to give it a bit more to work with and set it back on the shelf. 

He leaned against the shelf for a moment, but only for a moment. Stillness had never really suited him. With a sigh, he returned to the washer parts that were strewn across the floor. Grabbing the first bit that caught his eye (the internal motor, which definitely needed help), the Doctor made himself comfortable on the floor and set about fixing it. 

The problem with being brilliant was that it meant that even when you had something to do with yourself, you still had a bit (or a lot) of mind left to consider other things. Like how this was not how the Doctor normally made friends. This was decidedly upside down. 

Sure, they’d met twice the same day and hundreds of years apart and they’d had adventures and gone to the moon and saved the world. But after that, Angel hadn’t traveled with him to see the universe and that had made it very muddled. 

The Doctor didn’t get to do the doting and the wish-granting and the...yes, the showing off that he liked to do with people. And Angel certainly didn’t stand around looking impressed. Instead, he did things like give the Doctor advice on how to snag Rose and help rid the TARDIS of unfriendly vampires. Angel had punched him in the face and only sometimes when the Doctor actually thought he might have needed it. 

And sometimes Angel looked at him like he knew that the Doctor was going to die. That quiet, respectful, sad expression that the Doctor had seen far too many times. Which was strange because the Doctor hadn’t told Angel about Utah; nor did he plan to tell him.

The Doctor glanced up at the door to the library and wondered if he should ask Angel what he knew. Then again, if something had happened in Angel’s past and his own future, well, it wasn’t his business. Yet. As it was, he already had more information than was strictly right to have. So he thought about reworking the chip out of the washer entirely instead. Hardware. That was the way to go.

When Angel emerged he still looked angry, but he didn’t say anything; he simply moved across the room to gather some things from the apothecary table. The Doctor found that he had nothing to say in return. He considered telling Angel that he was sorry, but then the library door _clicked_ shut again, taking the opportunity and Angel away. 

The Doctor wired the motor back into the washer, making adjustments as he went. He improved the plumbing of it, too, because it had been awful. He also did a wonderful job of ignoring the odd organic smells coming from the library and the low murmur that he suspected was some sort of chanting. 

“It doesn’t really matter, anyway,” the Doctor told the washer as he soniced bits of it into submission. “I’m going to die by getting shot in Utah. So it’s not like he can kill me. It doesn’t matter.” He gave some of the tubing an unnecessarily strong yank. It didn’t matter that sometimes when he talked to Angel he had the feeling that they were both standing on the edge of a cliff and that they might, for some odd reason, both decide to jump. Nope, he’d be too busy getting shot by River to worry about metaphorical cliffs. 

The Doctor grinned and suspected it might look particularly mad. That didn’t stop him from thinking, _Take that, evil eyepatch lady. I’ll take all the advantage of the situation I want_. 

Ah, and there was Angel again, who seemed to think that cutting corners tightly and hunching his shoulders made him invisible or something. The Doctor was willing, for the sake of their might-be-friendship to ignore him, if that’s what he wanted. Although it was a bit harder now that his mood had improved. 

_Click._

The Doctor considered apologizing again, but quickly decided against it. He didn’t really feel sorry anyway. The washer deserved it.

He gave Angel about an hour in which he shoved the new(ish) and improved washer into the wall and collected the remaining parts for later tinkering into a nice pile. As a final touch, he wiped the grime off of the floor with the still-wet towel and then tossed _that_ into the washer. It hummed in new and much more humble tones. “That’s more like it,” he said. 

Feeling a bit more confident about life in general, the Doctor also knocked on the library door. There was a grunt, for which the Doctor took to be, “Come in!”

Or at least he poked his head around the door enough to say, “I’m going to make tea, do you want some?” Angel couldn’t argue with that; it was practically the universal sign of peace. 

Indeed, Angel nodded once without looking up from his book and mumbled, “Thanks.” Just as the Doctor was about to close the door again, Angel added, “Don’t take apart my stove, too.”

“Oh, no,” the Doctor assured him, “the toaster’s next.” He pulled the door shut and headed for the kitchen. 

The Doctor didn’t knock on the return trip. He nudged the door open with one toe and held out the peace offering of Earl Grey to Angel.

Angel took it without looking and let it warm his hand for a moment before taking a hesitant sip. Another moment passed before he finally glanced up. “Thanks,” he said again.

The Doctor nodded, hesitating in the doorway. He decided against saying several things, and stopped his hand from giving Angel a friendly pat on the shoulder. In the end, he retreated to a trite, “You’re welcome,” and then started backing out through the door. 

“Did you fix it?” Angel asked, still looking at his book.

“Yes,” the Doctor said, hoping that Angel was referring to the washer, which was fixed and not any of the several dozen things that he hadn’t fixed. If Angel wasn’t referring to that, well, maybe he’d be able to fix some of those, too, before Angel noticed. That would make it still true, just a bit temporally displaced.

“Good,” Angel said with a nod. Then he actually looked up. Not just glanced up, _looked_ up. “Think it’ll get blood out now?”

The Doctor shot a glance at the washer from the doorway. “If it knows what’s good for it.”

“I’ll have to try it,” Angel said. “Or did you throw that shirt away?”

The Doctor shrugged. “I threw the socks away,” he said. The idea that he was having a conversation about laundry practically clubbed him over the head. His back foot started the retreating process, inching slightly to the right, out of the line of sight of Angel. He wondered if leaving now would throw off the Peace Offering. 

Angel grunted.

Sometimes it felt like he was standing on top of a very large cliff with Angel...and sometimes it just felt like he was at the bottom of a cliff and trying to climb it by smacking his head against the rock face. He closed the door and left Angel to his book. He paced several circuits around the tiny flat until the overwhelming feeling of being trapped entirely took over his mind. Without so much as a backward glance, the Doctor tugged open the front door and strode out into the world.


	6. Looking for Trouble at Decade

The Doctor’s legs carried him to the last place the TARDIS had been. After sneaking back through the locked gate and making his way through the closed buildings and rides at the pier he found his way to the center of the park. The bodies had been dragged off, he noticed, and the blood had been covered in a layer of snow. 

Standing on the spot where the TARDIS had last been, he reached out with his senses. Nothing. No tingle of her presence. No friendly screech of brakes. No warm glow of her light. 

“It’s very odd,” the Doctor said to a lamppost that stood between two closed up buildings. It was, he decided, much more willing to listen than some vampires that he wasn’t going to name. He had originally thought that the TARDIS’s HADS system had triggered. “That’s Hostile Action Displacement System,” the Doctor explained to the attentive lamppost, “it dematerializes the TARDIS when it’s in danger.” 

But the TARDIS should have returned within an hour. Certainly not days later. Unless, of course, she was feeling finicky. 

The Doctor prodded the lamppost thoughtfully. He stuck out his tongue, tasting the air. “A reason the TARDIS wouldn’t show up in an hour...” he mused, scuffing his shoe against the cement, “is if the danger wasn’t gone.” 

The thought made a chill run up his spine. The Doctor twisted around, looking for the danger at hand.

It was a very subtle danger. 

It looked just like an empty carnival at a pier. Which did have a creepy sort of feel, but possibly a _normal_ sort of creepy. It was difficult to tell.

The Doctor pointed a warning finger out at the empty game booths. “I’m onto you!” 

An empty cup blew by innocently in the cold breeze. Just in case, the Doctor directed the sonic screwdriver at it, which told him that someone had peed in it at some point, but it was otherwise very normal. 

Clearly, this called for an Investigation. Nodding to himself, the Doctor stepped between two closed up buildings, looking for clues.

~~~~~

“It’s possibly maybe, I-could-be-wrong, not the HADS system,” the Doctor said as he let himself back into the apartment. “Unless it is. I thought I might try to sort out a sensor, you know, just to eliminate the option. As it were.” He slipped his jacket off of his shoulders and hung it on the coat tree just to test how that felt. It was a familiar gesture and he liked the feel of it. Or the idea of the feel of it. He was feeling much better about everything after having walked out some of the tension in his legs and spending time trying to dig up problems. Even if no particularly noteworthy problems surfaced. 

“I did run into a very nice chap called Jeb,” the Doctor continued, as he walked deeper into the living room. Angel wasn’t in sight. Nor was he in the kitchen when the Doctor stuck his head through the doorway, “and he said that we could visit a place called Decade. Apparently people can get up to trouble there. He said it in an odd sort of way, though...” the Doctor paused, remembering Jeb’s odd smile and raised eyebrows. 

Angel wandered out of the bedroom, blinking slowly at the Doctor, a toothbrush held in the side of his mouth. He raised one eyebrow at the Doctor.

The Doctor consulted his watch. 2:47 am. Right. Angel tended to go to sleep around now. “Or tomorrow,” the Doctor allowed. “In the morning.” 

Angel rolled his eyes and continued to brush his teeth. 

“You know, whenever you get done sleeping,” the Doctor waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll occupy myself. Don’t worry.” Not that Angel looked particularly worried, but still. Maybe the Doctor would occupy himself with a short nap. That certainly was something to do. But he wasn’t actually that tired. Usually he had the TARDIS with him so he didn’t have to deal with the huge gaps of time that resulted from other people spending 8 hours sleeping every day. 

Angel grunted and disappeared. The water in the bathroom faucet came on and a moment later, shut off again. Angel returned. “Don’t you ever sleep?” he asked from the doorway to his bedroom.

“Nah. It’s a waste of time,” the Doctor answered without giving it much thought. He picked up his little device from Angel’s bookshelf and turned it in his hands. “Honestly, it’s shocking you people get anything done.” Nevermind that the Doctor did actually sleep. When viewed as a ratio, he actually slept a little more than the average human. Just on a different schedule. But he liked the idea of himself as a person who was always available, so he didn’t bring this up. 

Angel gave him a long, curious look. Then he slowly said, “Huh. I guess that’s why you’re so…” he waved his fingers vaguely in the Doctor’s direction.

“Fun?” the Doctor suggested. He flashed a grin at Angel. 

“Your word, not mine,” Angel replied. “So what are we supposed to be finding at Decade? Aside from trouble?” He gave the Doctor an odd look. “Unless...you _want_ to find...trouble.” His odd look became the same one Jeb had given the Doctor when he’d said ‘trouble’ earlier.

The Doctor tried to sort out what that look meant, but the connection wouldn’t click in his mind. “I’ll explain in the morning,” he said calmly. He set the device down again on the bookshelf. He liked the idea of having the whole night to sort out what that look meant before he actually had to explain. 

The look lingered, but Angel nodded. “If it turns out that it’s a sure-fire way of getting your ship back here, I’m going to be very upset,” he said, turning to head back into his bedroom.

“I promise I’m mostly uncertain about the likelihood of how exactly that might happen!” the Doctor called after him. “Oh, and Angel?” Angel stuck his head back out. “Do you have a hammer?” 

Without a word, Angel closed the door to his bedroom. 

~~~~~

Angel had been lying awake in bed for nearly an hour. When he’d first returned to consciousness, he’d noticed the suspicious quiet of the flat and then remembered his predicament. He was rooming with the Doctor, Judith was missing, and there was nothing he could do except find spells that might help him locate a spaceship that was Nowhere. 

And also check Judith’s messages, which only ever made him feel worse to see that several of her friends were trying vainly to reach her and know that he was going to have to come up with something to tell them that didn’t involve the fact that he knew her at all; and that was a problem that always seemed far too heavy to solve in the moment.

Unwilling to tackle the day, he’d lain there, telling himself that he would get up as soon as he had a plan, but plans were not forthcoming. He grunted irritably up at his ceiling.

A clatter sounded, muffled through the bedroom door. And then a scraping of metal on metal. 

Angel frowned. 

Something started to emit a deep electric hum in the other room, setting Angel’s teeth on edge. 

“No,” the Doctor’s muffled voice scolded whatever it was, “not like that.” The noise cut out, only to start again at a slightly different pitch. “Ah-ha!” the Doctor said, his boots clomping against the wood floorboards.

Angel debated with himself for a moment. One the one hand, getting explanations resembling anything near satisfactory was about as impossible as noontime walks for Angel, but on the other… It wasn’t like he was getting anything done laying there. 

He sighed deeply, threw the covers off, and went to find a pair of trousers before emerging into the brightly-lit living room. Angel even had to shield his eyes a bit.

When his eyes finally adjusted, he seriously debated just going back to bed. A contraption of some sort had been erected in the space between his door and the seating area. Large as a Christmas tree, the base seemed to be a very large speaker, with wheels and levers and antenna sticking out of it at every angle. Next to it, grinning from ear to ear and looking disgustingly pleased with the mess, stood the Doctor. 

“Ah! Angel!” he practically shouted. “You’re up. Good. Now I can use the hammer.” He twisted around twice, looking for the hammer, only to discover it in his back pocket. Pulling out the hammer and giving it a warning glare, probably for hiding behind him, the Doctor slammed it three times against a lopsided wheel until it shifted its position.

Angel rubbed at his forehead. A headache had already started to develop, and the hammering didn’t help. He groaned at the back of his throat and then asked wearily, “What are you doing now?” 

“Investigating!” the Doctor said cheerfully as he hammered away at another part. “But other things, too. I fixed your toaster while I was in the kitchen. Also, I learned that the Gret demon clan was _not_ involved in our little battle the other day, but they did think it a shame that you hadn’t died horribly.”

Angel’s fingers moved to his temples. “Sil-Gret or Nar-Gret?” he asked. Then, realizing that it didn’t actually matter, since the only thing the cousin clans agreed on was how much they hated Angel, waved his fingers dismissively. “Never mind. I have a toaster?”

“Both, actually. I’ve been making the rounds,” the Doctor said this like he had waited his whole life to say “making the rounds.” Thankfully, he shoved the hammer into his back pocket again and rubbed his palms together, watching the movement on the newly hammered contraption. He looked up after a moment. “Of course you have a toaster. Everyone has a toaster.”

“I don’t eat toast.”

“Well, that explains why it was in such poor shape.” 

Angel wondered briefly what old appliance he used to have had started its life as one thing and ended up “fixed” as a toaster, but there were more important questions to be answered and Angel felt that he should save his luck. “So what’s this thing do?” he asked, nudging the base with his bare toe.

The Doctor jumped to Angel’s side. “It’s brilliant, isn’t it? This isn’t a _normal_ timey-wimey detector, this is a Super Timey-Wimey Detector!” He spread his arms to take in the marvelousness of the contraption in front of them. “It’s bigger than the last one I built,” he whispered unhelpfully. 

Angel looked sideways at the Doctor and crossed his arms. “If you had to kiss the last one to get it to work, I don’t want to _know_ what you have to do to _this_ one.”

The huge grin dropped into a scowl. “Angel,” he sighed, “it’s already working. And I certainly don’t want to be feeding it any of my biodata. I’m going to have to eliminate any results relating to me as it is. I am, after all, a bit of a temporal event myself.” He tugged proudly at his bow tie. 

“Right,” Angel agreed, understanding none of that. “Of course. So what’s it do? In English.”

The Doctor smiled knowingly at Angel. “It goes ‘ding’ when there’s stuff,” he said solemnly. 

Angel continued to glare at him as the machine continued to _whir_ placidly. “In Spanish, then.”

“It doesn’t get more simple than that,” the Doctor said. He reached out and adjusted a bottle cap that had been turned into a knob. The machine’s tone deepened and a paper fan clicked out from the side of it.

Angel sighed, now-familiar despair beginning to creep back in. “Alright,” he agreed in a defeated tone. “Ding. Stuff. I’m going to go eat.” And then maybe try contacting Griska, one of the (dozens of) intradimensional deities he’d found in his books. As one of the less nasty minor gods, she only required a triple sacrifice that didn’t even have to be human. Maybe he could pay a visit to one of the Gret clans tonight… Blow off steam, if nothing else.

Leaving the Doctor with his...contraption, Angel shuffled into the kitchen. He had gotten out a bag of blood and lit the stove when the Doctor stepped into the doorway of the kitchen. His enthusiasm had apparently been left in the previous room: he fidgeted nervously in the doorway, his fingers mingling in front of him until he pulled his hands apart and shoved them into his jacket pockets.

“What?” Angel asked, now crossing the room to the cabinet with the mugs.

One of the Doctor’s hands made a break for it and tugged at his bangs. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean for everything to...” his hand waved at the room vaguely until he shoved it back into his pocket, “that’s just how it seems to turn out.” 

Angel relaxed a bit. So the Doctor wasn’t _totally_ clueless about how irritating he was.

He gave a little shrug and picked up his favorite mug, a black-glazed pottery piece. “It’s okay,” he said. “If it helps us find her…”

The Doctor coughed and scratched at the back of his neck. “Well, from a certain perspective...” he mused, “this could be about locating Judith. But it’s actually, more directly, looking for dangerous things here.” He tilted his head, like he was trying to listen to his own words. “Well, more like weird things here. Not necessarily _dangerous_. More just things that make a TARDIS a little twitchy.”

Angel looked up curiously from where he’d set the mug beside his stove. “What kind of dangerous things?”

The Doctor stood up taller and pulled at the bow tie again. “If I knew that I wouldn’t need a detector.” He grinned and stepped in closer. “But my working thesis is that the TARDIS should have been back by now, and if it’s not back by now, well, I wonder if there’s something dangerous keeping it away.”

Angel straightened, now turning to fully face the Doctor. He tilted his head a little, not quite ready to let the hope that had kindled take hold. “So…” he said slowly. “You’re saying that the TARDIS jumped because something was after it…” He took a step forward. “And that something is still around, keeping it from coming back…” He took another step. “So if we find this thing and kill it...the TARDIS comes back? And Judith with it?” He stopped a few feet from the Doctor. “We have a mission?”

The Doctor started to back away, but stopped and pulled a brave face. “Yes,” he said. “Something like th--” But the Doctor’s words were cut off under Angel’s sudden choking embrace.

“ _Thank you_.” Angel said, trying not to let his voice crack. Then he pushed away from the Doctor as he said excitedly, “I’m going to go put on a shirt!” and dashed off.

~~~~~

It took Angel less than 10 minutes to get dressed down to his boots and leather coat, and loaded up with knives, dirks, daggers, stakes, and a sword or two and open the front door, where he turned around, looking for the Doctor.

“Well?” he said. “Let’s go get this thing.”

The Doctor, who had been blinking in confusion as Angel had geared up, grinned. Tugging his coat sleeves into place, he strode over to Angel and nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, “let’s.” 

They both headed out, Angel’s coat swirling behind him as he rounded the stairs down and the Doctor frowning seriously as he marched along behind. They had made it two blocks when the Doctor asked, “So do _you_ know what it is?”

“Nope,” Angel said confidently as they marched along. “That’s the first part of the mission. I learned that from Doyle: you get a mission, then you figure out what it is.”

The Doctor grinned. “Sounds like a very wise person.” 

“Not really,” Angel replied, turning left and leading the way across the street.

The Doctor laughed, jogging along beside Angel. 

Their first stop, because it was close and he was easily intimidated by Angel, was Ferguson’s Occultte Shop. The electronic chime didn’t clang any louder when Angel burst through the door than if he’d opened it gently and politely, but the door did make a nice loud crash as it banged against the wall.

The tiny Korean man behind the counter and several customers milling around jumped in shock.

“Ferguson,” Angel barked sternly. “Tell me about the new player in town.”

Ferguson paled. “N-new player? Angel, I- I don’t-”

“Ah,” Angel sighed. “Right.” And he turned around and left the shop. The Doctor paused, waving at the new person.

“Hello!” he called through the door. “I’m the D-” 

“No time,” growled Angel, dragging him away by the collar. 

The next stop was the Dragon’s Crown, where they might actually find answers. It was several blocks away, though, and Angel’s mind, fueled by hope and directed by familiarity, was working hard at the problem as they walked. 

Something dangerous that wanted the TARDIS. Something clever enough to almost manage it. Something charismatic enough to gather followers. Something other than the giant floating psychic fish who had already tried and gotten blown up, of course.

“Doctor,” Angel said as he pushed his way to the front of a crowd waiting for the light to turn. “Why would anything want to steal a TARDIS?”

The Doctor coughed. “Aside from how much fun they are?”

“Yes.”

The Doctor scratched his head. “Well, there’s the time travel bit,” he mused. “You can get yourself into all _kinds_ of trouble with that. Wanting to kill Hitler....wanting to remind yourself to not ask that girl to the prom, seeing how well that Christmas present _really_ went off, trying to take out a patent on things you’re too dumb to invent.” He shrugged and they both stepped out into the street with the crowd, Angel frowning with thought. “You could also use it to hide. The TARDIS is one of the safest places in the universe.”

The Doctor took a right turn when they reached the other sidewalk. “You could use it to gather information. It has an exhaustive information system.” He paused, looking up at a building that interested him. “Also, world domination.” 

Angel _hmmed_ thoughtfully. World domination was promising.

“And then there’s the obvious _travel_ option. Sometimes you just need to get somewhere.” The Doctor looked over at Angel. “And several things that I won’t mention out loud. Shouldn’t give people ideas.” He furrowed his brow, thinking. “Actually,” he said, “I can’t think of a reason _not_ to steal a TARDIS. I’d do it myself if given the opportunity.” 

Angel shook his head slowly. “No, this guy’s smart. He knows what he was after, and there are other ways to travel. He wants something specific. A weapon, maybe?”

“The TARDIS is not a weapon,” the Doctor said firmly. 

“But couldn’t it be, in the wrong hands?”

The Doctor glared at him, something very dark behind his eyes. Shaking his head, he said, “I think a more important question is who is capable of operating a TARDIS once they have it? You can’t just pull someone off the street and assume that they can figure it out.”

Angel nodded seriously. “So we’re looking for an evil genius mastermind. Shouldn’t be too hard: that type gets cocky fast.”

Angel pushed open the door to the Dragon’s Crown, the comforting smells of wood and tobacco washing over him, and made a beeline for Marty at the bar.

Marty, it turned out, knew little more than Ferguson, but Angel at least liked Marty, so he didn’t hold it against him as much.

Angel _did_ hold it against the half a dozen others he asked that night, though. Just because he needed to hold it against _someone_. After Grak - a Chyr demon that Angel played kitten poker with - slunk away when his questioning was over, Angel turned to the Doctor. 

“We’ve tapped out this place,” he said. “Did you mention something about Decade last night?”

“Oh! Yes!’ the Doctor said, turning from where he had been tapping away at the electronic menu. “A chap named Jeb mentioned it. But more as a suggestion than anything else. And keep in mind that it’s just as likely - more likely really - to be a thing as a person. The TARDIS doesn’t take off every time someone has a negative thought.” 

“Right,” Angel murmured thoughtfully. “Like an evil megalomaniac robot?”

“More...nuclear warhead,” the Doctor said. “You know, something bad.” 

“Right,” Angel murmured again. Then he straightened up and said, “Well, I know the owner of Decade and she knows a lot about the...shadier aspects of town. It’s worth a shot.” He started to lead the way out of the pub.

The Doctor followed a few seconds later, jogging to catch up. “Just as a point of interest, how many nuclear warheads are in the area?” 

“To my knowledge, none,” Angel replied. “But nuclear warheads are more of a human thing. When it comes to destruction, I keep to the demon side of things.” He held the front door open for the Doctor.

The Doctor stepped through, but turned as he did to keep looking at Angel. “But that doesn’t mean our problem is with demons.” 

Well. Damn. It didn’t, did it? “If it doesn’t have to do with demons…” Angel said slowly, leading the Doctor over to the nearest tram stop. “I’m not going to be of much help. Emily might… She has to deal with the humans, with her business…”

The Doctor clapped his hands and bent forward at the waist to look at the signage for the tram stop. “Let’s go meet her then,” he said. “I love meeting new people.” 

Ten minutes later, they stepped off the tram in Uptown; the city’s Green Initiative. With its solar-powered lighting and leaf-clad buildings, it was like walking in a forest more than a city, although the electric cars, brightly-lit businesses, and crowds of people shattered that illusion a bit.

The people in line at the front of Decade were heavily tattooed and pierced, and the line to get into the club stretched far off down the block. Angel, however, had access to the back, so he directed the Doctor down the side alley and then to the left toward the back entrance. 

“I’ve been debating about something,” Angel said, interrupting the Doctor’s story about pirates - or possibly two different stories about pirates that kept bleeding into each other - as they approached the door, manned by a grouchy, fat half-goblin. “I’m not sure if I should warn you about this place.”

“Warn me?” the Doctor said, pulling his shoulders back, “Beyond the general warning of everyone saying this is where to look for trouble? Is there a reason we can’t go in the front?” He turned, walking sideways as he looked back over his shoulder toward the front of the building. 

“That’s...kind of what the warning’s about,” Angel said. But he had (maybe intentionally in his subconscious) asked too late and they joined the small queue of vampires waiting at the back entrance. “This isn’t a normal establishment.”

“No,” the Doctor said, turning back around and leaning to one side to get a better look at the people in front of them in the queue. Several of the vampires were wearing their demon faces. “I see there’s a certain amount of segregation.” 

“That’s putting it nicely,” Angel told him. “This is the line to get into the...ahh…” He lowered his voice. “Human bar.”

“Oh. _Oh. Oh!_ ” The Doctor looked at Angel and then leaned to look at the line again. 

“Yeah,” Angel nodded. “Emily’s a...vampire. She created this...establishment. For...vampires…and their...food.” He shifted uncomfortably.

“So the people in the front,” the Doctor said, nodding his head back toward the front of the building, “are just the snacks?” 

“Well not _all_ of them,” Angel said quickly as the line moved forward. “Only the willing ones get taken back. Not that they always _know_ what they’re… It’s very selective.”

“Ah,” the Doctor said. He was silent for a tense moment while they moved forward. “And who does the selecting?” 

“That would be Emily,” Angel replied as they moved forward again. 

“Sounds...enchanting,” the Doctor said. He reached up and adjusted how his bow tie was angled, from slightly tilted to the right to slightly tilted to the left. 

They finally reached the front of the line and the half-goblin named Phil looked over Angel and then the Doctor. “Is this a patron or a guest?” he asked Angel. 

“Neither,” Angel said. “We just wanted a word with Emily.”

“Ya don’ have an appointment,” Phil said. 

Angel gave him half a smile. “Things are happening too fast for an appointment. Something extremely powerful is missing and we’re hoping she has information about it.”

Phil squinted at Angel and the Doctor like Angel had confessed to wanting to bring rainbows and puppies into the bar. Eventually he turned and hissed for someone inside the door just out of sight to go get Emily. “Would you like to wait in the lounge?” he said. He squinted at the Doctor again. “What are you anyway?”

The Doctor pulled his bow tie until it tilted to the right again. “I’m a Time Lord,” he said, “If it matters.” 

“One of the gentlefolk, then?” Phil asked. 

“I suppose so,” the Doctor said. 

Phil adjusted his posture. “Sorry, sir. Your illusion is particularly good.” 

The Doctor grinned first at Phil and then at Angel. “And I was worried it was getting a bit worn. Thanks,” he said. 

“Would you prefer to wait upstairs then?” 

“Upstairs would be great,” Angel said, latching onto that idea. Upstairs was the fairy bar. ...And fairy sex dungeon, but discreetly off to the side and behind a waterfall glamor. Upstairs would involve no vampires drinking human blood from scantily-clad bodies.

“Welcome to Decade,” Phil said, sounding decidedly unwelcoming. But he stepped aside, allowing Angel and the Doctor to enter. Instead of descending the stairs in front of them to the vampire sex dungeon, Angel pulled the Doctor by his elbow toward the left and through the open doorway to the dim foyer. The entrance to the human bar was just in front of them, the elevators next to it, and just on the other side, Emily’s closed office door. Angel pressed the call button. 

“So what’s upstairs?” the Doctor asked.

“The fairy bar,” Angel replied. “It’s a relatively new addition for the gentlefolk, since they have a significant population here in Ireland. And they’re really touchy about the use of the land. Emily had it built about 15 years ago.” And had won herself a very scary contingent of magical, psychotic supporters in the process. 

“Fairies?” the Doctor said, sounding delighted. “I haven’t met a fairy in years!” 

“But you _have_ met them?” Angel asked, craning his head back to look at the Doctor. The lift came and they entered the car. “You know the rules?”

“Don’t ask more than three questions?” the Doctor said. “Come to think of it, they may have been on a different planet...” 

“Try not to ask questions at all,” Angel told him, pushing the button. “They can’t tell a falsehood, so they don’t like questions. Also, don’t believe any answer they give you. They’re great at twisting the truth. And never, _ever_ make a promise or a deal with them. It’s binding, and they’ll come out ahead.”

“I like them already,” the Doctor said. He bounced on his toes. “Do I need to commit to pretending to be one?” 

“Nah,” Angel shrugged. “Hopefully Emily will be here soon and we won’t have to talk with any of them.”

The lift opened and they stepped out into a forest. This was much more like a forest than the forest of Uptown outside, with real tree trucks wide enough to sit four inside the carved-out notches, floor made of moss, and hanging flower-lights. Gentlefolk of all sorts flitted, swayed, and lumbered about. Angel pointed to an empty toadstool table that glowed blue and gestured for the Doctor to follow him over.

It was a bit short for both of them, and sitting on the mushroom cap chairs surrounding it was more like sitting at a traditional Japanese dinner table. Not far away, the waterfall glamor that hid the entrance to the sex dungeon thundered in their ears.

The Doctor looked around the room, bemused, but with a seriousness pulling at the corners of his eyes. “None of this seems particularly...explosive,” he said.

“I don’t think anyone here’s going to be our guy. Or gal,” Angel replied, looking around. “In fact, I don’t really expect anything that dangerous to be _here_. Whatever mastermind is behind the threat that’s keeping the TARDIS away, they’re not going to be spending their evenings at a club.”

“Right.” The Doctor looked around again and then turned back to Angel. “Then why are we here?” 

“To talk to Emily,” Angel replied. “She’s got a read on all sorts of dark and illicit activity in this city. Kind of like Marty, only on a much bigger scale. If whatever’s keeping the TARDIS away is because of something supernatural, there’s a good chance she’ll know about it.”

“Good. Good. I like people in the know.”

A fairy about four feet tall with purple iridescent wings alighted next to them and asked for their order in a high-pitched voice. 

Angel shook his head. “Nothing for me, thanks. We’re just waiting for Emily.”

The fairy sniffed. “Why aren’t you downstairs, then? With _your_ kind?”

The Doctor leaned forward as if the fairy had been addressing him and said, smiling, “I don’t have a kind, but the man at the door thought I’d do better up here. I’m the Doctor by the way. Nice to meet you.” 

“Peridot,” the fairy nodded to him. “Are _you_ ordering something?”

The Doctor looked tempted, but eventually shook his head. “I’m drinking in the atmosphere,” he said. “Very refreshing, by the way. Good job at that.” 

Peridot preened at the compliment. “Yes, well-- Let me know if you need anything.” His wings started flitting, lifting him a few inches off the floor, and he zoomed off.

The Doctor grinned at Angel. "Do the drinks cost you the color of your eyes here?" he asked. "That's a bit steep for me, to be honest. I didn't want to ask."

“Not the drinks,” Angel replied. “Though I’d imagine back there,” he gestured toward the waterfall, “anything goes.”

“Ah,” the Doctor turned in his seat to look back at the waterfall. “What’s back there?”

“Sex dungeon,” Angel replied casually.

The Doctor did what Angel counted to be a triple take, looking quickly between Angel and the waterfall, the waterfall and Angel, and then Angel and the waterfall again. He finally settled on sitting up slightly straighter and saying, “Oh.” 

“The waterfall’s a nice touch, isn’t it?” Angel added. “It’s not real - just a glamour. But the sound is a nice barrier to the other - ah - sounds.”

“A glamour?” the Doctor said, peering back in the waterfall’s direction. “So is it a loop of sound and light energy, or is the idea of waterfall being directed into our minds?” he squinted his eyes at the waterfall. “It’s beautiful. Now that you mention it. Or is it just directing the idea of beautiful into my mind? It doesn’t… No, I’m sticking with the sound and light idea.” 

“To my understanding, it’s projecting the idea of a waterfall into your mind,” Angel replied. “Which means that theoretically you could block it, if you had strong enough psychic powers. But I mean...why would you want to?”

“Why indeed...” the Doctor said softly. He inched away from the waterfall on his mushroom seat, but didn’t have far to go.

Angel spotted Emily striding toward them and he sat up a bit straighter. “Ah,” he said, nodding toward her. “Here she is.” He pushed himself up from the table.

“What? No. What?” the Doctor said quickly, looking around quickly. He finally followed Angel’s gaze to Emily and stood up himself. 

Emily clearly stood out starkly in the fairyland. Where everything on this floor had the cool and calming colors of nature, Emily looked more like a black and white photograph brought to life. Turned in the 1980’s, she’d lived her human life in the goth scene and saw no reason to change once she’d become a vampire. She had porcelain skin and black hair teased high above her head. She had enough silver piercings in her body that she could likely set off a metal detector at fifty paces. 

“Angel,” Emily said as she approached, nodding in Angel’s direction. She paused and dipped into a small but polite curtsy to the Doctor. “Lord,” she said, “Welcome to Decade. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure before.” “Oh,” the Doctor said, sounding equal parts flattered and confused. “Doctor will do,” he added. 

“Doctor then. Welcome. What can I do for you gentlemen?” 

Angel knew her use of the word ‘gentlemen’ applied mostly to the Doctor; she had lost most of her respect for Angel as a vampire long ago. Angel replied, “We’re trying to find someone - or something,” he added with a glance at the Doctor, “- that’s beyond the normal level of threatening. Something big, probably destructive. Have you heard of anything weird going on like that lately? Like, within the week?”

Setting a hand on her hip, Emily’s arm jingled as the metal bracelets readjusted. “I think the weirdest thing would be the floating psychic fish down at the pier. He had a bunch of henchmen patching into the city grid. I killed a few when they cut power during Metal Mayhem. They’ve stuck to their side of town since then.” 

“We were there for that, actually,” Angel said. “None of them seemed particularly…” He waved his hand vaguely. “...noteworthy to you?”

“They died easily enough,” Emily said dully. The Doctor opened and closed his mouth. He raised a finger and dropped it. His head jerked over in the direction of the waterfall briefly before he dragged it back and said, “I think what we’re looking for is going to have a particular energy signature. Something timey-explosioney-ish...y.” 

Angel was pretty sure that a culture advanced enough to have invented TARDISes shouldn’t have vocabularies that included “timey-explosioney-ish...y.”

The Doctor wiggled his fingers in what he clearly thought was a helpful manner. 

Emily looked like she was trying to hide a low level of disgust. “A particular energy signature,” she said, grabbing on to the last thing the Doctor had said that made sense. 

“Exactly!” 

“Okay,” Angel interceded on the Doctor’s behalf, “the thing is, we’ve got someone on a ship and the ship won’t land in an area it deems too dangerous. We’re trying to figure out what that dangerous thing is.”

“So you’re not on one of your saving the city missions?” Emily said, twirling a finger in a circle at Angel. 

Angel winced. “Not this time. This is an entirely personal mission.”

Emily rolled her eyes like Angel was a particularly stupid dog that kept running into a glass door. “Good,” Emily said, dropping her other hand from her hip. “I’d hate for Decade to blow up with the city and I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She started to turn, but turned back, raising a finger and tapping a black-painted nail on her chin. “But you might be in the right place. Summer Rain is here and she’s very talented at divination. Might do to check amongst your own people,” she said, nodding at the Doctor. 

Angel glanced at the Doctor, remembering how he hadn’t exactly denied the bouncer’s assumption that he was Fae. Well, it wasn’t hurting anything to go with it. “Great,” he said, nodding. “Summer Rain. Which one is she?”

“She’s typically at the bar this time of year,” Emily said. “Grey hair to the floor. Nails long enough to cut out a heart.” 

“Poetic,” the Doctor said. “Factual. I’ve seen her do it,” Emily said. 

“Ah,” the Doctor said. 

The vampire in Angel found this deeply intriguing, but he managed a slight grimace. “Thanks Emily. We appreciate your time.”

Emily nodded. “Keep the city standing,” she said. “I live here.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Angel tapped his fingers to his head in salute.

Emily’s mouth twitched in a smile and she bowed formally to the Doctor before striding away toward the stairs, her bracelets clinking like chains as she went. 

Angel and the Doctor stood from their seats and made their way deeper into the forest with Angel taking the lead. He hadn’t spent much time on this floor of Decade. It had been built both as a way to appease the fae by offering them their own space, and also as a way to keep the rest of the clientele safe from the fae’s haughty, irritable natures. But the path to the bar was well worn so Angel pushed forward with confidence.

“There,” Angel said as the bar came into view. The bar itself was made of stone that looked as though it had been cut and rubbed smooth by the sea. Behind it, more trees grew so thick and tangled that they worked as shelves to hold the rows of brightly colored but otherwise unlabeled bottles. Many contained a white liquid that Angel suspected to be fresh cream. Angel nodded to the tall woman sitting at the far end of the bar. “Her hair even looks like rain, doesn’t it? Weird. Come on.” They both stepped out into the small clearing, their boots crunching softly on the carpet of leaves. “Excuse us? Lady Rain? Summer Rain?”

Summer Rain turned on the log that functioned as her stool and either the dark pooling skirt or her long grey hair made the soft white noise of a steady rain as it moved. The sound was like walking through a small rainstorm and then walking back out again. She looked them both over slowly with her head held high and said as though coming to a conclusion at the end of a conversation instead of the beginning, “Yes. You wish to trade.” 

“Trade?” Angel said. “Oh, yes, of course. We do wish to trade. We have a question and Emily Slipp recommended you for your fine divination skills.”

“A question,” Summer Rain repeated in a voice that pattered like raindrops on leaves. 

“Yes,” Angel nodded. He paused, wanting to be careful of not asking too many questions and considered how to ask for her price without actually asking. He settled on, “We’re willing to consider offers of equal value for your answer to our question.”

The Doctor nodded in agreement, his fingers tapped together in front of him like a slow release of pent up energy.

Summer Rain _hmmm-_ ed like the gentle buzzing of summer insects, taking in the two of them with huge, watery eyes. “I would ask for the answer to a question of my own,” she replied after a moment. Turning to the Doctor she added, “You have so many questions. And more answers. Delicious answers.” 

The Doctor fell still and Angel could feel the Doctor’s lighthearted energy flip like a coin to a darker, more intense demeanor. An earlier version of the Doctor (the one with the short hair and big ears) had worn this demeanor like his leather jacket. Angel tensed a little. He’d been wondering when that layer was going to come back out. Was the Doctor’s mask slipping or was he lowering it intentionally?

“What sort of answer do you want?” the Doctor asked slowly.

Summer Rain blinked her watery eyes. Dewdrops fell from her long lashes. “That answer would also cost you.” The Doctor let out a huff of air. “It’s a bit pricey,” he said under his breath to Angel.

“Is it?” Angel replied quietly, considering the situation. “Does it have to be _your_ answer?”

The Doctor lifted a shoulder. “I hope not. She knows enough to know what I might know. Which is...” he turned his head to smile at Summer Rain, “possibly...profoundly dangerous.” 

There was a deep moment of silence between the three of them. Angel continued to assess things in his mind. They wanted information about a dangerous presence in the city; Summer Rain wanted an answer to an unknown question that apparently the Doctor was most qualified to give. Given that the Doctor had knowledge to tuck entire planets away in a time bubble for all eternity, that did seem like an unreasonably steep price. Angel’s bank of knowledge seemed much closer in value to Summer Rain’s than the Doctor’s, from where Angel was standing.

“I’ll give you an answer,” Angel volunteered. “Any answer; to any question.” It was a risk to offer blindly, but Angel couldn’t think of an answer to a question that was too dangerous for her to have. His human name, perhaps? His vampire name was spread everywhere, but his human name wasn’t so well known. Could she even do anything with it, when that man was dead?

Summer Rain pouted for a moment. “A hard bargain,” she mused. 

“We could leave you to consider,” Angel offered. He turned to the Doctor. “There are other Divinors in the city. We could ask someone else.”

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully. 

"Of course, Doctor," Summer Rain said in a tempting voice, turning to him, "I have answers to other questions too. You have so many questions. I could tell you about..." she turned her head slightly, like moving to read the next page in a book, "...Utah."

The Doctor's jaw clenched and then relaxed again. "I already know about Utah," he said softly. "Blue post cards. Stetson. Got the list."

"There's an alternative," Summer Rain said. "But you could go ask the other Divinors about that, couldn't you?"

The Doctor stood very still, his eyes fixed on Summer Rain. Angel watched the Doctor closely, fascinated. So far, Angel had only ever seen the Doctor ruffled in moments of imminent and serious danger - and even then, he’d had this remarkable ability to shrug out of the seriousness like it was a coat someone else had put on his shoulders. But the Doctor wasn’t shrugging this one off.

“What’s Utah?” Angel finally asked the Doctor softly. “An alternative to what?”

The Doctor jolted like Angel had shocked him. He looked around and laughed lightly, like a reminder of how to smile. "It's a party I'm trying to get out of," he said. "Of course, there are alternatives that I know about," he said more to Summer Rain than to Angel. "But the consequences are worse than if I'd just went."

_A party, my ass_ , Angel thought.

“And the alternatives you do not know about?” Summer Rain asked, her voice sounding sweet as ripe fruit.

The Doctor sighed and leaned back onto his heels and then rocked forward onto his toes. "I think we should get to know your question," he said. "Since you know mine."

Summer Rain smiled; her teeth were shiny, but with a greyish tint to them. "The time, place, and manner of my death," she said. "Seems an equitable trade."

Angel raised an eyebrow. An equitable trade? 

"That's not fun information to have," the Doctor said seriously. 

"No, but it allows for...alternatives, doesn't it?" she said.

Angel frowned, glancing between the two of them, his suspicions clicking into place in his mind. Alternatives and an equitable trade? Was Utah the place where the Doctor would die? Utah, and not on his ship, with blood draining out of the vampire wounds on his neck? “Hang on--” Angel said.

"No," the Doctor interrupted, though he was looking at Summer Rain. 

Summer Rain leaned away like his single word had knocked her back. Then she turned fluidly back toward her drink. “Very well, then…”

“Wait,” Angel said, reaching out a hand to grab her elbow, but paused as he thought twice about the wisdom of that. He let his hand drop awkwardly. “What about my question?”

"Your question," Summer Rain said. "Of course," she took a long sip from her drink and then turned back to Angel. "In exchange...tell me why you care so much."

Angel jolted. He hadn’t expected that. His human name, some secret of the underworld, or hell, even something about this powerful time-and-space ship they were searching for: those questions, he expected. Angel had carefully built a structure of power in Galway when he’d moved there, explicitly based on his _not_ caring. That foundation had been crumbling, of course. A truthful answer could give her the power to bring that all down for good.

Angel shifted, clearing his throat. He gave the Doctor a half smile. “It is a steep price,” he agreed. He let his gaze fall to the floor. He thought of Judith, stranded on a strange ship in a vortex of God-only-knew what it actually was. He thought of William and the other people Judith had left wondering and worrying about her. He thought about his tenuous grip on his section of town and how all the choices he had made for the greater good had started his decline in power, and how - realistically - he wasn’t getting it back. One more choice for someone else’s good was just another step in the pattern, and there was a chance that Summer Rain wouldn’t even do anything with the information. “Okay,” he said, looking up at Summer Rain. “You have a deal.”

She smiled. “Please,” she waved her hand at him and the jewels on her fingers glinted like sun on water, “gentlemen first.”

Angel hesitated. He actually wasn’t sure what their question was, given they could only present one to be answered. He could run through each of the Five W’s and find questions he equally wanted answers to ( the “how” he really didn’t care about at this point). Running through them in his mind, they mostly boiled down to “When is the ship coming back?” and “Why isn’t it back already?” but then, maybe more pertinent questions would be “Who” or “What is keeping them away?”

Angel took in a deep breath, settling into the heart of the question; what he really wanted to know. He looked up at Summer Rain. “What can I do to bring Judith back now?”

"Bring her back _now?_ " Summer Rain repeated. She blinked slowly and looked at the Doctor with a can-you-believe-this? expression. But she nodded and lifted her hand, water dripping from her fingers and making dark spots on the stone bar. She studied a single drop as it slipped over the edge of the bar and slithered down the side. "If you cannot employ a reasonable amount of patience,” she said, “you could trade your quite unique soul to Betharr, the chaos demon. I think he has the required amount of power to pull the...blue creature from the sky upon request."

"Really?" the Doctor said, interested in this tidbit. 

Summer Rain leaned back against the bar, her hair moving and glinting like a wall of water. "But in answer to the spirit of your question, vampire: your friend was right in his original assessment of the situation. The simple act of keeping patience will bring you success."

That was not at all what Angel had wanted to hear. So many more questions popped up as a response to this one, but he knew he had to honor the deal. What had been her question, exactly?

_Tell me why you care so much_.

Part of Angel wanted to argue that it hadn’t really been a question, but she had answered his in spirit, which was generous for a fae.

Angel took in another deep breath. “Then...I care so much because I love people.” 

Summer rain smiled, her teeth looking wet and sharp. 

Angel only let half a moment pass before he took a step back, nodding for the Doctor to follow him. “Come on,” he said. “I need a drink.”

"Thank you," the Doctor said to Summer Rain behind him. "I always like it when I'm right."

She laughed and there was the soft, rainy sound of her turning back to her drink. 


	7. Downstairs

In the end, Angel’s need for a drink (and, okay, an appearance at the Bar of Moste Evile for reputation’s sake) eclipsed his worry about the Doctor’s reaction to the place. When they stepped off the lifts he headed straight for the swinging double doors that led to the bar.

While most bars were dim, this one leaned into the shadows of being barely lit. A sparse light came from somewhere behind the bar and glowed behind the long tapestries that ran down stone walls. Angel could see just fine, as could the other vampires, but he noticed that the Doctor squinted at the forms tucked into the black leather couches along the walls, his pupils dilating to take in what little light there was in the room. 

The bar itself was long and black with silver bands of metal that wrapped around it. While Angel would have preferred the feel and smell of a wooden bar, (part of what he enjoyed about the Dragon’s Crown) he could understand why wood had not been involved in a vampire bar. After all, wood was one solid punch away from being splintered into several vampire-killing weapons. And Emily had made it clear that she didn't like her customers staking each other. Particularly when the dead party hadn't paid off his tab yet.

Angel sat down on one of the stools at the bar, gazing over the liquor selection in front of him while he waited for the Doctor to find the stool next to him in the dark. Angel didn’t really need to browse the liquor selection; he knew what they carried. But it gave him something to look at other than the screen displaying tonight’s human rotation. Maybe the Doctor wouldn’t notice the two or three especially tasty-looking humans walking around, enticing purchases.

A bartender Angel knew, but hadn’t seen in a while, came over to them. “Spirit or flesh?” she asked, her voice low and pleasingly sultry. 

“Spirit,” Angel replied. “Scotch. Anything over 15 years.”

"Tea," the Doctor said; his gaze had found the tall athletic woman with spiky purple hair who paced behind the bar, his eyes lingering on the pale scars that stood out on her olive-toned wrists as she ran her fingers temptingly along the surface in front of them.

The bartender lifted her eyebrows. Angel could see the flare of her nostrils as she inhaled. "You got it," she said, her voice still just as sultry.

"Well," the Doctor said, turning to Angel, "that was a bad bit of news. I hate having nothing to do."

“Betharr,” Angel said, partly to himself as he mused on the conversation. “She mentioned that he has the power. I wouldn’t give him my soul, of course, but… Maybe he’d take something else.”

"Not so much as I'd resort to deals with demons just to fill the time," the Doctor continued. "And people call _me_ impatient."

Angel looked over at the Doctor sharply, but his gaze softened as he realized that the Doctor had a point. Apparently, Judith and the TARDIS were just going to...come back. On their own. In what state and in how long, Angel had no idea, and he burned to know so much that he started considering going back to Summer Rain to make more trades.

The bartender - Reishi, Angel remembered her name was - set Angel’s scotch in front of him. For a human, it would have been a double pour, but here at Decade, spirits were given according to vampire metabolisms. A moment later, a teacup, teabag, and small hot water pot was placed in front of the Doctor.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” she said, already wandering away to tend to new customers.

Angel picked up his drink and took a long sip, letting it sit on his tongue for several seconds before swallowing. Finally, he responded to the Doctor in a soft, even tone, “I find it very hard to be patient in situations like this. I don’t like how many unknowns there are. At least with Betharr, I know both the outcome and the potential consequences.”

The Doctor smiled at him. "I promise," he said, "the TARDIS will take good care of her. And if it's jumping forward like I originally thought, then she won't even know what she missed."

“And what will that be?” Angel asked, looking over at the Doctor. “What if it’s years? What if she misses the birth of her first grandchild, Doctor? Hell, what if she misses that grandchild’s _wedding?_ And we could have brought her back now.”

The Doctor nodded, plucking the teabag from his cup and turning it between his fingers. "I'll keep working on the device to call it back," he said. "Shouldn't take more than a few weeks."

“She could lose her job by then,” Angel murmured, partly to himself. “Once her vacation time runs out and she still doesn’t show up, that’s it. And she plays cards every other week with her friends. They’ve been leaving messages on her phone every day, each one more frantic, and I don’t know what to tell them because I don’t really exist to them, so I’ve just been ignoring it, but...” He sighed and shook his head.

The Doctor's nose wrinkled slightly, the expression somewhere between disgust and amusement. 

“What?” Angel asked, irritation bubbling. “Doctor, this is the situation, here. This is what I’m having to deal with and why I’m not patient about it. What am I supposed to tell the people in her life? _How_ am I supposed to explain that she’s out of town accidentally and will be back at some point before the-- What’d you say, the 26th century?”

"I can tell them," the Doctor said, tucking his expression away into something more sympathetic. "I'm good at explanations. And lies. Not in that order."

Angel let out a chuckle and took another long sip of his drink. “You feel like talking to her boss, too, once her vacation time runs out?” 

"Sure! I'm great with bosses." The Doctor dropped his tea bag back in the cup and poured the steaming water over it. "It's just a job anyway, Angel. Is it worth all the fuss?"

“Yes,” Angel replied firmly. “It’s not just a job. She enjoys it. It’s part of who she is. It makes her feel like a valuable part of the community. I’m not going to let it all get taken away from her just because your ship decided to take her for a joyride.”

The Doctor's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. He twisted the teacup in the saucer. "You're right. I'm sorry," he said softly. "I forgot how...human she is."

Angel nodded gratefully. That was something, anyway. He took another sip of his drink.

"Why don't you know her friends?" the Doctor said. "You know Judith very well."

Angel decided not to take the way that the Doctor said that last bit as another _Because she’s your girlfriend_. He’d probably guessed that they were sleeping together anyway; the mistake was easy to make when Angel wasn’t willing to go into details.

Angel shrugged. “Just never crossed paths,” he replied. “We run in different circles. Except the Goldbergs, I guess. They live a few floors above me.”

"So how did she end up in your circle?"

“Judith?” Angel took another small sip of his drink. “You remember the last time you were here? In my timeline? I was trying to decide if I should buy milk for a kid?”

"She wasn't the kid, was she?" The Doctor paused, looking up at the ceiling. "No, it was two little boys... You said I could have one in a pinch."

Angel laughed. He’d forgotten he’d said that. “Probably Calder, since Judith would have staked me if I’d given you _her_ son.”

"That was it!" the Doctor said, slapping the countertop. "So she was the frightening mother. Now that you mention it, she did have that look about her."

Angel chuckled again. He couldn’t deny that. He also couldn’t deny that he found it weirdly sexy. But he wasn’t going to mention that. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s her.”

"That was such a long time ago," the Doctor said wistfully. He smiled at his teacup and lifted it to his lips. 

The purple-haired athletic woman who had been pacing behind the bar with a seductive sway stopped in front of the Doctor and stretched her arm out temptingly on the table. “Something a little stronger, darling?” she asked. “It’s only a small upcharge if you want it from somewhere other than the wrist…”

The Doctor set his teacup down and looked up at the woman's eyes. "Is this really what you want to do?" he asked.

She blinked at him, either surprised or not understanding, or both. “Don’t get asked that a lot here…” she said, her smile only faltering a little before it came back, as coy as before. “We get paid really well,” she told him. She offered her wrist again.

"Lots of things pay well," the Doctor said. "So I'm told, I wouldn't know. But," he paused, still looking in her eyes, "there's a whole world out there. Why pick this corner? Do you love it?"

A spark of understanding crossed her expression. “You’re not a blood-drinker,” she said, getting it. She smiled, withdrawing her arm. “Have _you_ ever tried it, then? It’s a rush like you wouldn’t _believe_.”

Angel tensed and tried to hide his expression behind another long sip of his scotch. From what he could tell, the Doctor hadn’t _yet_ had that experience, and he probably wouldn’t call it a rush when it came; especially if he ended up dying from it.

The Doctor chuckled. "I was once nearly drained by a plasmavore on the moon," he said cheerfully. "I'm afraid it wasn't for me. Mean old lady. And then she tried to blow me up!"

The woman raised her eyebrows, amused. “Well, I don’t know about plasmavores, but you should give vampires a try sometime. They’re not so bad.” She gave Angel a wink and turned with a smooth grace to continue her hunt for takers. “Have a great evening, boys.”

They watched her go and after a long moment of silence between them, Angel said, “Sorry. This isn’t the sort of place I normally bring...anyone.”

The Doctor looked around. "I'm interested in new places," he said. "And she was also very human." He leaned out to catch another glance as she leaned over a different table.

Feeling a little defensive, despite the fact that the Doctor hadn’t said anything at all judgmental, Angel said, “They’re all willing. The humans. They’re not drugged or hypnotized or anything. I checked.” 

_Asked_ , was more accurate. Asked and not seen evidence to the contrary and therefore not questioned it.

The Doctor looked at him for a long moment, taking in Angel's words, but also seeming to look through them. "So you come here alone?" he said.

Angel dipped his head in acknowledgement. “When I do come,” he said. “I still prefer the Dragon’s Crown.”

"It's better lit, I'll give it that," the Doctor said, looking out at the dark room. "Why? What do you like about the Dragon's Crown?"

"It's more...in the middle," Angel replied. "Like, it's still a demon bar, but only some of the time. The rest of the time they serve normal humans normal foods like meat and potatoes."

"And this place is one of the extremes?" the Doctor said.

Angel laughed. "How could you tell? It's nice here, when that's your mood, but it's not an every night kind of a place. Not for me, anyway."

The Doctor nodded and he took another sip of his tea. "It must be difficult to have a foot in both places," he said. "There is room in the middle, but there isn't much room. I wonder sometimes what gets lost when we carve that space out for ourselves."

Angel raised an eyebrow, interested. “The edges?” he guessed. “I mean, being in the middle means you _can’t_ be at either end, right?”

"It's not a literal space, you know," the Doctor said, an amused smile pulling at his lips.

“Sometimes, the constraints feel tight enough,” Angel murmured, taking another sip of his drink. “I don’t know, Doctor. I guess it is what it is. A place for every mood, and my mood is usually more middle.”

"But this is a mood you can't show your friends."

Angel’s mouth twitched. “No…” he agreed softly. He looked at the Doctor. “Does that mean you’re not my friend, then?” Angel remembered the last time he had met this version of the Doctor - the time over 200 years ago when Angel ended up drinking the Doctor half-dry (you can still die at half-dry, make no mistake about that) - the Doctor had said that he and Angel were friends. He had told Angel what had happened to his homeworld because as friends, Angel should know. So that meant that their friendship would develop over time, with Angel knowing how it likely ends all along. Did that mean that Angel had a moral obligation to keep this particular friend at bay?

Angel suddenly remembered the other part of their conversation with Summer Rain: the part about Utah. It had gotten shoved aside with Angel’s bitter disappointment at his answer, but now it occurred to him: maybe he _hadn’t_ killed the Doctor. Maybe the Doctor survived Angel’s bite and lived to die in Utah. Or maybe - for some reason - the Doctor regained consciousness long enough to get himself to Utah and died there from blood loss? That didn’t make sense...

"I think we could be friends," the Doctor interrupted Angel’s thoughts, sounding pleased with the idea with an almost playground simplicity. "I don't mind being a different-ish sort of friend. That's usually where I land anyway."

Angel let out a huff of air through his nose. “And you don’t mind that my moods sometimes look like this place?” he asked.

The Doctor looked around again. The athletic woman has settled down in one of the chairs in the back, her arm stretched out toward a vampire in the chair next to her. "You should see me in a bad mood sometime," the Doctor said, turning back to his cup. 

“Who said this was my bad mood place?” Angel responded, turning an eyebrow up at the Doctor.

"I guess you didn't," the Doctor admitted. "You would have to catch me in a Time Lord mood."

“And what kind of a mood is that?”

"Oh, it's horribly stuffy," the Doctor said with a laugh. "It's really the worst."

“Stuffy, huh?” Angel nodded. “I guess that’s why we have rooms behind waterfalls, right? To break _those_ kinds of moods.”

"Good grief! Don't remind me!" The Doctor dropped his head into the counter. 

“Yeah, right?” Angel agreed. “It’s weird with fairies. Like, I know some of the darker ones are into some really kinky stuff, but ‘fairy sex dungeon’ just sounds like an oxymoron.”

"That's not what it sounded like," the Doctor muttered into the sleeve of his arm that he'd brought up to cover his head.

“No?” Angel glanced over at him. “What’d it sound like to you? Are you okay?”

"I'm fine. It's fine. Nothing. I don't know what...it sounded like." The Doctor flopped his fingers in Angel's direction.

Starting to suspect that Time Lords might be asexual (asexual species often had...unpredictable reactions when dropped into a conversation about sex), Angel leaned over slightly and sniffed. It was a creepy but useful tool vampires had, and it let Angel get away with not asking out loud what the Doctor’s sexual history might be.

Well, he was not a virgin, but Angel wasn’t going to pick apart the scents beyond _that_.

“Okay…” Angel said, chalking it up to more weirdness about the Doctor that he just didn’t understand. He finished off his drink.

Eventually the Doctor emerged from under his arm. He tugged his bow tie back into place and arranged himself on the stool like he'd just sat down for the first time. "I liked your answer, by the way. To Summer's question."

Angel’s eyes widened slightly and he glanced around quickly to make sure no one was listening in. “Yeah, thanks,” he said. “Good bluff, huh?”

"I know a bluff when I see one," the Doctor said softly.

Angel stood up and leaned over the bar, ostensibly reaching for a bottle on the Doctor’s side. While he lifted up bottles to look at the labels, he said under his breath, “Good, then if it gets out, you can tell everyone what a great job I did fooling the fae.”

The Doctor smiled warmly. "Of course," he said.

Angel sat back and found that he’d accidentally chosen a bottle of tequila. He wasn’t really one for tequila, but feeling like he’d committed, poured himself a shot. “It’s all so delicate,” Angel murmured, half to himself.

"Your lie?" the Doctor said, conversationally.

“All of it,” Angel replied. “One lie can bring down empires, whether it’s true or not.”

The Doctor sat for a quiet moment and then said playfully, "I thought you said you weren't in charge."

“Not of the territory around the Dragon’s Crown,” Angel replied, shooting the Doctor a look. “I’ve got other territory. And influence. And it’s been unstable for years, now.”

"What happens if it collapses?" 

“Well, there’s a power vacuum, to start,” Angel replied, and paused to take a sip of his tequila. “There’s violence, chaos, some evil things get hurt but more civilians get caught in the crossfire. Then whoever’s biggest and baddest wins, and my section of town is overrun with new laws. There’s no way of knowing what those would be, of course, but I’m going to guess with how tight I have mine, the pendulum would swing just as far the other way.”

The Doctor nodded. “So it’s best to keep a hold on your little corner,” he concluded. He sipped at his tea. “That sounds like a terrible position to be in.” 

“Only if you don’t like your corner,” Angel replied.

“I’d rather not be stuck anywhere,” the Doctor said. “No matter how nice a corner it is.” 

Angel nodded thoughtfully. “The freedom was nice,” he admitted. “But it’s worth the payoff, I think. I mean, it has to be, right?”

“Why would it have to be?” 

“A little of my freedom for the humans’ freedom to walk above ground without getting attacked and eaten?” Angel glanced at the Doctor, one eyebrow raised.

The Doctor looked stunned for a moment. Slowly his expression passed through interested in Angel to that warm, glowing smile that the Doctor sometimes revealed. Like Angel had done something particularly amazing. “I’ve never been able to pay that price,” the Doctor said softly. “Not willingly.” 

That surprised Angel. The Doctor had been willing to sacrifice his homeworld to save the universe. He valued his freedom that much more? Perhaps he hadn’t sacrificed his homeworld so willingly. Angel hadn’t actually gotten the full story on that. He wondered if the Doctor would tell him, if he asked. He decided to try.

“How willingly did you pay the price of Gallifrey?”

The question ran visibly through the Doctor like a chill down his spine. He composed himself in a series of motions, like a ritual that cleaned him. He tugged at his cuffs, adjusted the angle of the handle on his teacup, and then touched (but didn’t adjust) the bow tie. “I don’t think willing would be the word I would use,” he said. “But no one forced me. I think it was quite the opposite of that.” 

Angel nodded slowly, letting that information sink in. An un-forced un-willingness to destroy your own planet sounded about right. Angel could fairly easily place himself in a similar situation, having been asked many times to sacrifice much less and done it unwillingly but without the proverbial gun to his head. 

Angel took another sip of his tequila. “I guess after that, you have to have something you’re unwilling to let go of,” he said. Or else where did it stop?

The Doctor tipped his head back, seeming to consider Angel’s statement. “I think...freedom has been more the thing I hold onto. I guess that’s the same as being unwilling to let go.” He let out a breath of air that was something of a laugh. “How _do_ you know so much about me?” 

Angel briefly considered holding the answer over him and letting it dangle the same way so many of Angel’s questions seemed to around the Doctor. But the destruction of one’s homeworld seemed off-limits for pettiness like that, so Angel gave him a little smile and said, “You told me.”

Actually laughing this time, the Doctor said, “God, I’m sorry. That sounds like a terrible conversation. I mean, I suspect I’ll get around to it anyway, but still, _such_ a downer.” 

Angel’s smile got a little bigger. “Just a bit,” he replied. “But it was...nice that you finally gave me a straight answer on something.”

“I was dying, wasn’t I?” the Doctor said. He held up his hand. “Don’t answer that.” 

Angel let out a breath and finished the tequila, glad to have another reason to stop himself from saying, _Not yet_. Maybe? 

Two drinks in and in such a short amount of time, Angel felt brave enough to ask. “Tell me about Utah.”

The Doctor tended to flinch in reverse. Instead of a sudden jolt of motion (which was honestly how he normally moved), he would fall suddenly still until he recovered himself. He did by turning the teacup so the handle pointed in a new direction. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Angel,” he said softly. 

“I am worried,” Angel admitted, just as softly. “We’re friends, remember?”

That at least made the Doctor look up at him. A smile pulled at his lips. “We are,” he said. “Of course we are.” He let out a long sigh and cleared his throat. “I don’t really have the details,” he said.

“But that’s where you die?” Angel asked.

The Doctor closed his eyes. It might as well have been a yes. 

Angel nodded slowly, taking that in. So. If the Doctor’s death _was_ Angel’s fault, he somehow got himself to Utah with half his blood drained. Otherwise, Angel was off the hook. “What’s special about Utah?” Angel asked. “Can’t you just...not go to Utah?”

"It's..." the Doctor's fingers adjusted the teacup, "fixed. I think. Unchanging. Unalterable." He shook his head. "But it's a while off," he said with forced cheerfulness. "I shouldn't know. I mean, everyone's death is a while off. This is what comes from being nosy." 

Angel swallowed. “Do you know how it happens? Why you even go to Utah?”

"I go because it's a fixed point," the Doctor said, his fingers fanned away from his cup. "The why will almost inevitably take care of itself. I will go because I went. It’s--” the Doctor let out a sigh that sounded old and tired. “I've been working on it. Between--" he waved his arms at the bar.

None of these answers were helpful. “How do you know it’s fixed?” Angel asked. “Who told you about this in the first place?”

The Doctor fidgeted, felt his pockets, ran a hand through his hair. "I did," he mumbled. "In a roundabout way."

Angel blinked. “ _You_ did? You...told yourself. That you were going to die in Utah.” Silence fell for a moment and then Angel said, “That’s kind of brilliant.”

"Only I don't know why!" the Doctor said, sounding frustrated for the first time. "My presence twice only makes it _more_ fixed. I thought maybe it meant there was something I could do, but I wonder if it was just engineered to trap me."

“Why would you trap yourself?” Angel asked, shaking his head. “If you told yourself, you probably had a reason. What was all that talk about alternatives?”

The Doctor turned on his stool toward Angel. "If my invitation was a part of the fixed point then I might not have had a choice," the Doctor said in a whisper. His fingers tapped on top of the bar as he continued to speak and he sounded far away, almost like he was talking to himself. "I think the fixed point is _engineered_. And if someone else built it to trap me, then I should have some room to make adjustments within the point. I thought maybe I could break it or slip it or--" he shrugged. "But everything I look at causes too much damage. Fixed points are powerful, stable things. It's like trying to slip through a mountain more than slipping out of a noose."

Angel thought about that for a moment. “Summer Rain had an alternative,” he said softly. “Is that not worth the price of telling her the place and time of her death?”

The Doctor shook his head. "We don't know her price," he said. "If she thinks it's worth the equivalent of moving a mountain? I'm not willing to risk giving something that's going to hurt someone else just to save my skin."

Angel grunted, not being able to argue with that. “Damn,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you not to make deals with the Fae? She still has information we both want, plus information I don’t want her to have.” He sighed, leaning on his elbows on the bar, thinking about the information that seemed so close and yet so far out of reach. “I can look into it on my end, if you want,” Angel offered. “See if I can find you an alternative.”

The Doctor lifted his eyes to look at Angel like he was seeing him for the first time. Amazement and sadness mixed to the point where Angel thought that he might cry; but instead he sniffed and dropped his eyes again. "I haven't told anyone," he said softly.

“And I won’t tell anyone,” Angel promised. “But I have resources. I’ll look.”

"Thank you," the Doctor said. "That's kind of you." He met Angel's eyes again. "It's nice to have someone on my side."

Angel smiled a little. It was nice to learn that he probably didn't kill the Doctor. "Of course," Angel replied. "I can't imagine you not having lots of people on your side, though, if you asked."

Sitting up, the Doctor shook his head. “Not as such,” he said softly. “Amy and Rory...you’ve met them, right?” He squinted up at the ceiling in thought. “Yes, yes, with the vampire Master. They know and of course they’re doing what they can but they’re too close. They saw it and so they’re part of it in a way.” The Doctor leaned his elbows onto the bar, his voice barely a whisper. “And there was one more, but she’s even more involved. Everyone else...they want it.” 

"I don't," Angel said softly. "Even though you did get water all over my wood floor."

The Doctor laughed. “I was worried that might be a sticking point,” he said. 

Angel straightened up and said, “The finish protected it better than I thought. You made a narrow escape on that one.” Angel set his glass aside and added, “How’s your tea? I’m done here, if you are.”

The Doctor adjusted the angle of the cup one last time. “I could go,” he said. He stood up, swinging his arms. “Now I can check ‘visit vampire bar’ off my bucket list.”

“Was it seriously on there?” Angel asked, flagging down the bartender. Part of him almost believed it, given the Doctor’s eccentricities.

“I tend to add them as I come across them,” the Doctor admitted. “It leaves room for spontaneity.” 

“Makes sense,” Angel replied, and then said to the bartender, “Put his on my tab. Plus a shot of tequila.” He gestured toward the bottle he’d stolen.

The bartender rolled her eyes, but nodded. While they waited, Angel turned to the Doctor and with a chuckle said, “Buying you drinks, taking you back to my place… I guess we’re starting to make quite the couple after all.”

The Doctor only smiled at him like he didn’t get the joke, so Angel just tapped his Palm ring to the device the bartender handed him, letting the joke slide awkwardly away. When it binged its approval, they turned to head for the door. 

At some point over the past week, Angel suspected that he had become friends with the Doctor. Or at least he had started to accept his masked presence, like a loud fan slowly becoming white noise. The Doctor talked happily as they made their way south out of the green, ivy-covered Uptown and into the older sections of Galway with its cement sidewalks and glass bridges between skyscrapers. 

As they walked and as the Doctor chatted, Angel found his thoughts returning to their conversation with Summer Rain. She had said that the Doctor was right that the TARDIS would come back on its own. Apparently, their solution really was to wait. (Short of selling their souls to Batharr, that is.)

Well, that was a fine backup plan. If all else failed, it was good to know that Judith and the TARDIS really would just appear at some point. It took some of the pressure off.

But they still didn’t know _when_ she was coming back, and Angel would be damned if Judith missed out on the rest of her life just because he and the Doctor could wait an eternity for her. 

The PTB had failed him, Summer Rain had given an unsatisfactory answer (a _stupid_ answer really; he had grossly overpaid for _that_ information). But she had given Angel one useful tidbit: there were beings out there who could pull objects out of the time vortex. 

Angel still had work to do.


	8. Lies of the Useful Sort

The sun felt warm on the Doctor’s face. Living with a vampire had a way of isolating him from the daytime. The whole world flipped like a coin from bright, fun adventures into long shadows and unfriendly faces. No wonder vampires had such a consistent aesthetic. 

Those shadows had started to pull at the Doctor, particularly when Summer Rain had offered to give him an alternative to his own death. The temptation of the offer tugged at his thoughts, but it was still too early. He didn’t know why the death had been arranged. He didn’t know who by. He needed more information before he could really commit to any solution. So once Angel had gone back to bed, the Doctor had gone outside for a walk, hoping the sun would burn off the darker thoughts. 

The city itself was beautiful: The pleasantly ancient buildings of Old Town blended into the tall glass architecture of the newer Galway City and then grew plant life like hair on top of its head to the north. He decided that he loved it. 

Although, he had to admit that he was a little disappointed that there hadn’t been anything particularly...stoppable to stop. As comforting as the idea was that Judith and the TARDIS would simply return as a matter of course was, he felt a little like he was waiting for a much needed rain to quench his thirst. Sitting and waiting was not his strong suit. The night before, Angel had quickly returned to his little library to research contacting demon lords, which had shown the Doctor that he was apparently going to have to be the voice of patience or somehow deal with Angel needlessly summoning demons in case Judith returned just a few days late. 

The Doctor turned back toward the apartment as the sun started to set, feeling pleasantly recharged in spite of the somewhat draining thought that maybe he could go back to Decade, find Summer Rain and promise to look into her death once he had his TARDIS back. 

That was a decidedly bad idea. A notably, intuitively, bad idea, the Doctor thought as he climbed the steps back up to Angel’s hallway. 

He’d keep it as an option when he was suitably desperate. But not yet. 

Not yet. 

The Doctor pushed open the door to the apartment, swinging easily inward at his touch. Angel was one of the first things he saw, stretched out on the couch under the window at the opposite wall. The stack of books higher than the table next to Angel was the second thing the Doctor noticed. Angel’s face was buried in one of these books and there was a presumably-empty mug of blood on the table, based on the way a single drop of red had dried, crusty and brown on its way down the side.

“Hey,” Angel’s voice came from the other side of the book, although he sounded distracted.

“Hey!” the Doctor echoed, although if it were an actual echo, Angel’s voice would have been bouncing off much, much happier cave walls. The Doctor thought that maybe, just maybe, they had settled into a rhythm where Angel didn’t seem actively annoyed that he was entering the apartment. Tucking his hands into his pockets, the Doctor stepped up to the tower of books and leaned over to observe the titles. 

There was a definite demonic theme. 

“Light reading?” 

“Research,” Angel mumbled, still sounding distracted. He turned a page.

The Doctor picked up a book and flipped through it. It was part encyclopedia and part spell book, with descriptions of demons and how to summon each one. He flipped back to a page early in the book. “You know,” he said, “this guy is from the Needle Cluster. I think you’d be better off just phoning him.” 

“Which one?” Angel asked. He didn’t look up from his reading.

“Uhhh...Needarhok 7,” the Doctor read. “The number corresponds to his birth order, if you were wondering. Birth order is very important in that cluster. I didn’t know they made trips to Earth.” He read over the instructions again, “I guess if you have to slaughter 666 pigs to get in contact with him, he doesn’t visit often. Or bacon factories are calling all the time...” 

“Mmm,” Angel agreed vaguely. “So are you going to phone him?”

“Would you like me to?” The Doctor wasn’t much of a caller, now that he thought about it. He liked popping by for visits more. Much more personable. Much less likely to sound like a bad message - although that might not be a consistent opinion. 

“Sure,” Angel replied, turning another page. “That sounds great.”

It occurred to the Doctor that Angel might not be listening. “I’ll take apart the stove first,” he said. 

“Oh good,” Angel said. He flipped back several pages to check something, then started reading again.

The Doctor nodded. He considered Angel for a long moment. He could join him on the couch reading, but based on the contents of the books, Angel was really seriously considering this whole sell-my-soul-to-the-devil thing. Summoning a demon did sound interesting...

The Doctor might be getting dangerously bored. 

“I have an idea on how to get Judith back,” he said. 

Angel’s face suddenly appeared from behind the book, fixing the Doctor with an unnervingly intense stare. “How?”

The Doctor beamed at him, giving him his brightest, most confident smile. “I can’t tell you,” he said, “but I can show you.” 

Angel’s brow furrowed in suspicion. “Why?” he asked. “Just tell me.”

“Because the solution is to give it a bit of time. I’m horribly bored, Angel. Let’s go do something.” The Doctor grinned, he hoped winningly. 

Angel sighed. “I _am_ doing something,” he replied. “I’m seeing if Chaos demons ever take things other than souls for payment, and checking for other powerful entities than can pluck a ship out of the vortex while I’m at it. Think about it, Doctor: the sooner we get it back, the sooner you won’t be horribly bored anymore.”

The Doctor rocked back and forth from his toes to his heels and back again. Angel did have a point. He let out a long sigh and moved over to one of the chairs. He plucked a pile of books from the seat and sat down, setting the books on the floor. “I’m not sacrificing 666 pigs,” he said. Just to be clear.

“What?” Angel said even as he disappeared behind his book again. “666 pigs? I don’t know where you get these things…”

The Doctor picked up one of the books. “I don’t know either,” he said, flipping to the first page to take in a detailed sketch of what seemed to be a skeleton made of nothing but teeth. The science involved seemed highly suspect, but it was a thing to do…

They read their respective books in silence for a long time, except for the turning of pages (quick turning, on Angel’s part, like a microsecond lost in the turning was too much). Eventually, Angel sat up suddenly and said, “Okay, for something this big I think Chaos demons are out, but what about a Galtorprax? They want blood, and it doesn’t even have to be your own. You might be onto something with the pigs, Doctor.”

The spike of relief that had flooded through the Doctor when Angel had sat up drained out of the Doctor just as quickly. “I think I specified _no_ pigs.” 

Angel rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’ll find us a demon, then. No problem.” He swung his legs off the couch, planting his feet on the floor. “I say we set up outside; the sand is hell on my floor.”

The Doctor stood up and took a step forward, reaching out for the book Angel had been reading. “Can I just...” he said.

Angel nodded and handed him the book. The Doctor read through it. Twice. 

“Angel...” the Doctor said. 

“Yeah.” Angel looked up at him expectantly.

“You know when you show up in a situation, and it’s a disaster and you wonder why anyone would make all the necessary decisions that would result in the disaster that you’re standing in?” 

Angel frowned. “Maybe. What are you getting at?”

The Doctor flipped back a few pages. “It says this demon...‘eats the hearts of the pure.’”

“Yeah, well, we’re not going to let him out of the circle,” Angel said like this was the most obvious thing in the world. He stood up, but immediately bent over to open the drawers of his apothecary table.

“Then why didn’t you do this before?” the Doctor said, closing the book in his hands. 

“Hadn’t thought of it,” Angel replied. He waved his hand at the library. “I’ve tried other magics, altering location spells to include time and things like that. And, yeah, summoning something for power is dangerous, but--” He shrugged again and gave the Doctor a resigned look.

“If this goes wrong, we won’t be the ones who pay the price,” the Doctor said. They both knew neither of their hearts were pure. Risking others lives for their own convenience was unacceptable to him. Perhaps he would risk something dangerous to himself to shave off a few hours or days from the wait, but he wouldn’t risk someone else. And the Angel he saw wouldn’t either. He reached out and touched Angel’s shoulder. “Why can’t you see that there’s a happy ending to this?” he said. 

Angel swallowed uncomfortably. “Because happy endings aren’t something I see very often. Not for me and the people I-- I care about.” He shifted his weight and added, “The longer we wait, the less happy the ending is going to be. We’re coming up on the end of her vacation time and then she’s going to lose her job and her livelihood and her role in society and after that what’s next? Her friends; her family growing up without her... It’s like a-- a time bomb, and we can _stop_ it, Doctor, if we just got her back _now._ Between you and me we _should_ be able to do this, shouldn’t we?” There was a hint of desperation to his voice, like he needed his belief in their abilities to be true or his world might crumble.

The Doctor knew how that felt. Self reliance was how he survived the universe more often than he liked to admit. And as it was, his whole life seemed to be careening toward a notably tragic ending where he was shot by his...well, he didn’t quite have a word for that yet. But in his experience, the only way to keep moving in the face of the unyielding cynicism of the universe was to bravely wait for it to show the glimmer of hope.

But when the glimmer seemed too far away to touch...

Then the Doctor needed to rely on a different set of abilities. Angel was right. They couldn’t make sure everything wouldn’t work out as they wanted, but he could do something. 

“We’ll talk to her boss,” the Doctor said decisively. 

Angel rolled his eyes. “That’s not getting her back,” he said. “That’s pointing out that she’s gone.”

“It’s buying us more time,” the Doctor said. He scanned his eyes over the books. “You’re better than this,” the Doctor said. He said it firmly, like he could jolt Angel into remembering it. “You love people. And we’re not going to start putting others at risk when we can keep buying ourselves time.”

Angel did jolt, physically. He looked up at the Doctor like he’d jabbed him with a cattle prod. Then he shrugged, brushing it off and pulling himself back together. 

“Give me a chance,” the Doctor said. “We’ll write a happier ending.” 

Angel hesitated, and that seemed like a good sign. At least it wasn’t a blatant _Hell, no_.

“How are you so sure we can?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” the Doctor said, “but I have faith.” 

“In what?”

The Doctor smiled warmly. “You’re not always being punished by circumstances,” the Doctor said. “I think things can work out if you let them. The universe can be a beautiful, wonderful, giving place.” He paused, giving Angel’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Also,” he said after a moment, “I have a lot of faith in my ability to come up with an amazing and convincing story to tell her boss.” 

Angel snorted a little with amusement, which was at least something. “I don’t have that kind of faith,” he admitted. “Not in the universe. Or even in Chance working out in my favor. But in your ability to come up with bullshit stories?” He smiled. “That I do believe in. We can put this on _hold_ ,” he caught the Doctor’s eye pointedly.

That sounded a lot like the Doctor had just bought himself some time. “Well let’s do that,” the Doctor said. He tucked the book into his jacket pocket. “I’ll show you how to weave a web of lies so thick it looks like a tapestry!” 

~~~~~

“You don’t say,” Thea Hartmell, the short, serious hospital administrator said in a hushed tone. “But...witness protection? Will she be back?” 

The Doctor nodded seriously, tucking away the bifold that had somehow convinced a professional that the Doctor was a member of the police into his breast pocket. “It’s mostly a precaution. Once we can confirm that the people involved are not the people we’re _worried_ are involved, we’ll have Judith back at work.” 

Thea nodded gravely.

“Of course, due to security protocol, I’m going to have to ask you to refrain from asking her any details when she returns,” the Doctor said seriously. “Or even spreading this information around. It’s best kept between us.” He winked at her and Angel wasn’t sure if the gesture was surprisingly charming for someone as awkward as the Doctor or if it was coming off as charming because he looked awkward doing it. Either way, Thea giggled when he did it. And she really didn’t look like someone who would giggle.

“Well,” the Doctor said, standing up from where he’d been leaning over the counter, “I have a few more stops to make. Please, keep this as quiet as possible.” He slapped the counter a few times and stepped away, walking away down the hall like he belonged just there in that moment. 

Angel offered Thea a quick nod and followed after him, trying to look the same level of belonging (which shouldn’t have been hard - Angel walked around the back halls of the hospital often enough to get blood, he belonged there more than the Doctor).

“How did you do that?” he asked when they were out of earshot. “What did you show her?”

The Doctor pulled the little bifold out and flipped it open, showing it to Angel. 

It looked like two completely blank pieces of paper in a bifold.

Angel looked up at the Doctor. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor said, grinning. “It says whatever I want. Like Cricket King or...” he turned it around to look at it, “Pretty Good Roommate,” he read. Or pretended to read, since it was still clearly blank.

“It doesn’t say anything like that,” Angel told him, feeling a little foolish (whether because it was an obvious statement or because he was obviously missing something, he wasn’t sure). “It’s a piece of paper.”

“ _Really_?” the Doctor said, sounding pleased. “How clever of you, Angel.” He flipped it closed and tucked it back into his pocket. “It’s psychic paper. Have you seen it before, then?”

“No,” Angel said, mystified. “It’s what? Psychic? How can a paper be psychic?”

“It’s specifically designed to pick up on brain waves. So, you think what you want it to say, and then when someone reads it, it communicates the message in a believable way directly into that person’s brain. Apparently, the message is getting lost along the way.” The Doctor peered over at Angel, curiosity covering his features. “You can be trained to spot it, or a natural psychic is going to see it as a clear fake. Like being able to tell the difference between people on the telly and people in real life. And often certain types of genius figure their way around it. Shakespeare wasn’t impressed.” 

“Huh,” Angel said. Come to think of it, an item like that sounded rather useful. “There many of those around?” he asked as they exited through the automatic front doors of the hospital. 

“Not in this century,” the Doctor said. “Time Agents apparently got their hands on them, though, so I’m sure there’s quite a few if you know where to look.” 

“Huh,” Angel said again. “I’ll have to keep an eye out…” He took in a breath of the cold winter air, enjoying the sensation in his lungs, and let it out again, considering their situation. “We can’t tell that story to her friends,” he concluded. “They’ll ask for details. Despite you and the psychic paper telling them not to.”

“Yes,” the Doctor said. “It’s rather better for starting gossip than stopping it, honestly. Can’t we just say she’s visiting someone?” 

“William did suggest we could tell people her mother’s ill,” Angel said. “I mean, it’s kind of flimsy with modern communication the way it is, but…” He shrugged. “It’s really not like her to just up and go without telling anyone.”

“Maybe it’s serious,” the Doctor said with a hit of drama. “She’s very distressed.” 

“She and her mother do have a stressful relationship, from what I gather,” Angel nodded. He added as an afterthought, “I thought she was nice enough, but I get it, with parents.”

The Doctor blew out a breath of agreement, the air forming a small cloud in front of him. 

“I’ll call Will and update him,” Angel decided as they paused to wait to cross the street. “And then…” He eyed the oddly-flat pocket where the Doctor had stuffed the spellbook he’d stolen from Angel earlier (Angel was calling it stealing even though the Doctor had asked to see it and Angel had given it to him - shoving it in his pocket where Angel couldn’t use it to summon a demon definitely counted as stealing).

“And then we’ll have bought ourselves some time,” the Doctor said cheerfully. “I love time, don’t you? You can just feel the options open up.” He opened his arms and turned, welcoming in the crosswalk atmosphere. 

Angel rubbed his forehead tiredly. Their arguing about time and waiting for good things to sort themselves out could last _years_ , he suddenly realized. And the Doctor had the book that could change that. “I’ll make you a deal,” he offered.

The Doctor clicked his heels together as he came to a stop again. He leaned forward just inside a comfortable distance from Angel. “Yes?” 

“We give them a week,” Angel said. “If they’re not back in a week, we do things my way.” “A week from today or...?” 

“Yes,” Angel nodded. The crosswalk light changed and they started across. “A week from today. That’s a reasonable amount of time to account for with the lies we’re using to cover up Judith’s disappearance.”

The Doctor followed after him, his legs taking some time to catch up with his shoulders. “I like it,” he said. “Deal. We take a week and then we do something crazy.” 

“Really?” Angel said before he meant to. He’d been expecting some negotiation first. “Great. I mean, fine. Yes. A week.” 

Angel let that sink in a bit. A week of living with the Doctor. And it had already been almost a week. They had settled into a sort-of routine centered around the temporariness of the Doctor’s presence, like he’d surely be leaving any minute, and now Angel had gone and solidified it. Invited him to stay for a week while they...waited.

It had seemed like a much better idea when Angel had been thinking about getting his way with the summoning thing. Now he had an intentional houseguest whom Angel knew he hadn’t exactly been making feel welcome.

Angel glanced over at the Doctor. “Um, in that case, you can take the bed tonight. I know I’ve been kind of hogging it…”

“I don’t sleep,” the Doctor reminded him, his head drifting up to look at Angel’s building: the first of the tall buildings outside of the hospital grounds. 

Angel rolled his eyes slightly. “Yeah, you tried that joke already on me.” Maybe Time Lords had a thing against imposing on hosts for their beds. While it was true that Angel had never actually seen the Doctor sleep, it was also true that he might require _less_ sleep and Angel had simply slept through all of the Doctor’s sleeping on the couch. He wasn’t aware of any creature that simply didn’t sleep at all. “I mean, we could share the bed, too, if that makes you feel better.”

The Doctor lowered his gaze, but seemed to become interested in someone across the street. “Why? Does it make a difference?”

“Where you sleep?” Angel asked. “I mean...yeah. I want you to be comfortable. And well rested. I mean, if we’re living together for a week, might as well be…” he rolled his wrist, looking for the right word, but he couldn’t come up with anything beyond, “comfortable.” He directed the Doctor up the front steps to his building.

The Doctor smiled then, like this was a completely unexpected development, but one he was amazed to receive. His attention found its way back to Angel. “Really?” he said. “I’m staying?” 

“Well, yeah,” Angel chuckled uncertainly. He had thought that was a given, but apparently the Doctor hadn’t. Was there a reason Angel had missed? “Isn’t that the deal?”

“I guess it was,” the Doctor said. He pulled the door open for Angel, holding it as he passed. “You’re right. Of course. Totally. Gotta keep an eye on me.” 

“Well, that’s only part of it,” Angel replied, half smiling at him. “So do you want the bed to yourself or not? I really don’t mind the couch.”

“I’ll let you know if I get tired,” the Doctor said. 

Angel raised an eyebrow at him as they rounded the landing on the stairs. He was about to press the Doctor on the issue when he heard a woman’s voice in the foyer below, calling,

“Excuse me? Sir?”

Angel and the Doctor paused, looked at each other, and then returned to the top of the stairs. Angel recognized his neighbor - and Judith’s friend - Marietta Goldberg looking up at them from below. He swallowed nervously. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I was just-- You know my friend Judith Cole, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Angel replied slowly. “Why?”

Mrs. Goldberg started up the stairs toward them. “It’s just that-- I don’t mean to alarm, of course-- It’s only that I haven’t heard from her recently and it’s unusual. Do you have much contact with her?”

Angel unintentionally made a strange noise in his throat. Aside from the last several days, he had had much more contact with Judith recently than he’d _ever_ expected to.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” the Doctor said, sweeping down the stairs toward Mrs. Goldberg. Before she could respond, the Doctor stopped on the step above her to execute the formal air kiss that he seemed to think was required for introductions. “I’m Dr. John Smith,” he said. “I’m staying with Angel for a few weeks. I lost my house recently...” 

“Poor dear!” Mrs. Goldberg said. “I know,” the Doctor said tragically, “but Angel was just saying that William, you know her son William? Nice boy. I like him. He was just saying how Judith’s mother was sick. She’s had to go help out right away. It’s not my place, but it sounded like a real stressful relationship. I always like to give that sort of thing some space.” The Doctor whispered this last bit, like it was some deeply new and interesting advice. 

“Oh,” Mrs. Goldberg nodded in fervent agreement. They were gripping both hands between them like holding onto each other for emotional support. “Yes, of course. You’re right, you know, her mother is-- Well, one mustn’t spread rumors of course. Suffice it to say I think you’re right. Poor Judy. I should call her just to let her know I’m thinking of her, and her poor mother.”

“I think the hospital has her keeping the Palm on silent,” the Doctor said. “William was complaining that he couldn’t get through, but I find a kind message is always appreciated.” 

“Yes, right,” Mrs. Goldberg nodded again. “Thank you, I’ll do that. And I’ll let the other ladies in our group know. We’ve all been concerned. It’s really not like her, but when it’s family…” She tilted her head like making a concession. She glanced up the stairs past the Doctor and met Angel’s eyes.

Angel suppressed a shiver. Her eyes seemed to penetrate straight through him. 

“Well, I won’t bother you any longer,” she said, breaking the gaze and her grip on the Doctor’s hands. “Thank you both very much.”

“Nice to meet you,” the Doctor said, waving as she headed back down the stairs. Then he swiveled around and headed up back toward Angel. “It’s nice to have friends that care,” he said pleasantly. 

Angel waited for the front door to close behind Mrs. Goldberg and the Doctor to return to the landing before starting up the next flight. They climbed the first few steps in silence and then Angel said tensely, “I think she knows.”

“That Judith stole a time machine and took a joyride?” the Doctor said. “Color me impressed.” 

“No,” Angel sighed, rolling his eyes. “About-- About us.” He swallowed. He’d never used the word ‘us’ in relation to Judith meaning _that_ sort of ‘us.’ He’d never said anything of the sort out loud about her at all.

“She knows that I’m really a stranded alien temporarily staying in your apartment? Color me _very_ impressed.” He paused. “Actually, no, that one is kind of obvious.” 

Angel rubbed his forehead with his fingers. The Doctor was being dense on purpose, he just knew it. Well, he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. They rounded the landing on the next floor and as they continued climbing, Angel said, “Never mind. Forget it.”

“What?” the Doctor said, looking genuinely confused. “Which ‘us’?”

“You know,” Angel said, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. “You keep alluding to it, even though I keep telling you it’s not true.” The Doctor blinked, briefly placing a hand on his chest, like trying to grab Angel’s accusation from where it had stuck. “Tell me again,” he said, “what’s not true?” 

It took until the next landing until Angel finally pulled it together enough to say, “Judith. Is not my girlfriend.”

“Oh!” the Doctor said. A moment later, he seemed to reassemble their conversation and said more seriously, “Oh.” He turned and looked over the railing, like he expected to be able to spot Mrs. Goldberg from their current vantage point. “Oh. Is she not supposed to know?” 

“No one is,” Angel replied, breathing the words out like someone might overhear. “There’s-- It’s not--” He sighed. “ _We_ barely even know,” he admitted. They reached the top of the stairs and turned to go down Angel’s hall. “It’s very new and--” he waved his hand vaguely. “No, she’s not supposed to know. But I think she does.”

The Doctor’s mouth dropped open, like he had finally understood a deep mystery. “Right,” he said in a whisper. He waited while they walked down the hallway in silence, like helping Angel keep the secret from the listening walls and doors around them. It was silly, but Angel appreciated it. Only once Angel had closed the door to his flat behind them did the Doctor say, “I didn’t realize she was that important to you.” 

As Angel shrugged out of his coat, somewhat crowded by the large, turning, “Timey-Wimey” detector that took up much of his open space, he asked, “Didn’t you? You realized something, with all that girlfriend talk. I mean, god, _minutes_ after meeting her you asked if we were _engaged_.”

“I mean...” the Doctor shifted uncomfortably, “I thought...that it’s...I was mostly...” he waved a hand in the air, “but you said you weren’t. So I thought that we were sticking with...that.” 

“We are,” Angel said, hanging his coat up. “Because we’re not. Any of that. Engaged or dating or--” He paused, the air heavy with his silence. 

Angel turned around to face the Doctor, who looked completely bewildered. Angel hesitated again, but he had already said it in essence, so he bit the bullet. “But... We are sleeping together. And that’s--” Angel shrugged uncertainly and turned to go into the kitchen. “I don’t know. People don’t know yet.”

There was a long pause but eventually the Doctor crept into the kitchen after him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly behind Angel. 

Angel nodded. He hadn’t come into the kitchen for anything in particular except for something to do. Maybe he’d get a glass of water. Or tea. Tea took a long time to make. He went to get the teapot. “I think she knows,” he repeated. “My neighbor.”

This time, the Doctor winced sympathetically. “I don’t know,” he said. “She might just think our story was weird.” 

“She came by the other night,” Angel said. “Last week, I guess, now…” He waved his hand dismissively as he filled the kettle with water. “She said she was doing a building poll and came in. Judith was in the bedroom…” Mostly undressed. Angel cleared his throat. “She didn’t see her, but I think she suspected. I teased Judith about her figuring it out. Seemed funnier at the time.” 

The Doctor had paused just inside the kitchen doorway, like it was a threshold to a different house altogether. “But you miss her,” the Doctor said. 

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Angel said softly. “But…” But he wasn’t sure what. He set the kettle on the stove and lit the flame under it. “I’m not sure...how...much. How much I’m supposed to… I mean, we haven’t even _talked_ about it, Doctor, we just started doing this thing and now she’s _gone_ and people are asking questions - to _me_ like I’m supposed to know better than anyone else - and am I supposed to just miss her as much as a friend would or more than that, and if I’m supposed to miss her more than that does that mean that there’s something more here? Because there _isn’t supposed to be!_ ”

“I think you probably already know how much you miss her,” the Doctor said softly. “Probably more than you know how much you’re supposed to feel.” 

Angel closed his eyes and shook his head. “That’s not actually the point,” he said, well aware that it was exactly the point of his rant, but he hadn’t _meant_ it to be the point. “The point is, I don’t know what to do with any of this, and she’s not around to-- To ask. Or just--” He shifted uncomfortably. “Or just kiss me so I don’t have to ask.” That was exactly how it had been going before, and it had worked just fine for him.

The Doctor moved into the kitchen, delicately stepping toward the small table at the wall. He leaned against it. “You can ask her when she gets back,” he said. 

Angel laughed a little hysterically at the very idea. “ _Me?_ It’s my fault, actually. That we’re still…” he waved his hand. “I can’t ask her because then she’d have to ask me the same thing. Why I asked her back to my place again at all. Doctor, _I don’t know_ why I asked again. I thought the point _was_ that we weren’t asking each other, that we were careening toward something kind of exciting and maybe disastrous, but at least we were doing it together, you know?” He turned and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “So yeah, I miss her, but also there’s a part of me that’s a little terrified of when she comes back. Whenever that is.”

The Doctor nodded, looking down at the kitchen floor for a long moment. “We can always summon a demon, if it’s too scary,” he said. 

“Can we please?” Angel asked feebly. Angel knew how to deal with demons. 

The Doctor smiled at him. “I think you should take a week,” he said. “Take a moment.” 

“And do what with it?” Angel asked. “There aren’t any answers without her around.”

“There’s answers about you,” the Doctor said. “And there’s space to remember that there is more than this.” 

Angel shifted uncomfortably. “Like?” he asked, looking up at the Doctor.

The Doctor gave him a goofy grin. He opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Friends!” he said. 

Angel stared at him. The goofy grin did not falter. Angel continued to stare. The Doctor continued to grin. 

Angel broke first with a snort. And then he burst out laughing. A moment later the Doctor joined him, laughing until he leaned forward, his hands across his stomach. 

“Friends,” Angel repeated, still laughing as he thought about being friends with the Doctor, whom he’d nearly killed, and Judith, whom he was suddenly sleeping with. “I’m having a hard time with the whole friends thing right now.”

“What?” the Doctor said, still chuckling. He leaned back against the table. “We’re doing great! Aren’t we?” 

Angel sobered a little. “Yeah,” he said. “We are. I meant me and Judith. This whole…” he waved his hand vaguely, “friends-until-we’re...you know. Thing.”

“But you can always be friends,” the Doctor said. It was odd how innocent he could be about some things. 

Angel raised an eyebrow. He felt lighter after laughing; freer to talk about it a little more openly now. “After having sex? After the first time, maybe, since that was the agreement. After the third…?” Angel swallowed, the familiar knot that had developed over the past week starting to return. “I was content to think so. Now I’m not so sure.”

Nodding seriously, the Doctor said, “That would complicate it. That’s why I usually avoid that situation.” 

Angel was unsure what to make of that. It almost sounded from his tone like the Doctor hadn’t known that sex was involved until Angel said the actual word, but...what the hell else would they be talking about? And for that matter, “You do? So you’re…” He sniffed the air as inconspicuously as he could, wondering if he’d gotten the Doctor’s virginity assessment wrong the first time. Hard to tell, from this distance, but he didn’t think he’d gotten it wrong. The kettle reached a full boil and Angel turned the stove off. He went to get a few mugs.

“I’m what?” the Doctor said. “Usually more interested in friendships? They’re easier.” 

“Ah,” Angel nodded. “Right, okay. That’s definitely true.” He set two mugs on the table and went to get some teabags.

“But it’s also true that sometimes people are more wonderful than you expected,” the Doctor allowed. “I mean, if you love her, Angel, I don’t think it’s a problem.” 

Angel coughed, dropping the box of tea he’d just gotten out onto the counter, where it bounced and tumbled to the floor. “ _Love_ her? No-- I mean, of course like a _friend_ , but there is no-- I’m not _in_ love with her.”

Letting out a sigh, the Doctor leveled a disappointed look at Angel. It was oddly parental and even more oddly effective. Angel shifted uncomfortably and bent to pick up the box of teabags. “What?” he asked defensively.

“You do love her. You’ve been saying nothing else since we started this talk. And all week, now that you mention it...” the Doctor scowled out at the doorway. “I really should have picked up on that.” 

Angel sighed sharply. “I care about her,” he said firmly, pulling two bags out of the box. “A lot. I admit that. She’s been a good friend for a long time. If that’s what you meant, then we have nothing to argue about.” He set the box aside with a hard tap on the counter, tossed the teabags onto the table, and went to get the kettle. “Black tea okay? I think I’m out of peppermint.”

“Okay,” the Doctor said. He reached for the teabags and went about dropping them into the mugs. Angel filled the mugs with hot water and then set out a small dish for them to put their teabags in when they’d steeped.

“Milk?” Angel asked. “Sugar?”

“Yes, please,” the Doctor said, playing with his teabag. 

Angel fetched the milk and sugar and set them on the table in front of the Doctor. He sat down, swirled his teabag a bit, and pulled it out, setting it on the dish. The Doctor took the opposite seat and went through the process of removing his teabag and adding milk and sugar with his quick, finicky movements. 

They both sipped their tea in silence. 

They finished their tea in silence. 

Angel silently collected the mugs and placed them in the sink where the Doctor wordlessly washed and dried them. 

While the Doctor was occupied, Angel wandered into the living room where he surveyed the piles of books stacked around the couch like a wall. He slowly went about gathering them and returning them to the shelf, making sure that each of them were put back in their proper place. 

The Doctor came in from the kitchen, plucked the small TARDIS-summoning device from its home on the bookshelf, and settled himself on the one clear spot on the couch where he absently poked and prodded it. 

When all the books but one were returned to the shelf, Angel settled himself down on the now-clear chair and started to read. 

He’d started in the third chapter when the Doctor suddenly stood up. “But if you don’t love her, then what are you so worried about!” 

“I’m worried,” Angel said, practically tossing his book aside to stand up, too, “because we’re still having sex like we _are_ in love but we shouldn’t be and every time we have the opportunity to clear the air, we take it to the bedroom instead! I’m worried because I don’t _want_ to talk about it! And I’m worried because I already love someone else!” He huffed like he’d suddenly won the argument.

The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it, raised a finger and slowly directed it around the room like trying to locate this new third person in a crowd. Dropping his finger he tucked his hand into his jacket pocket. “Ah,” he said. He sank back onto the couch. 

“That’s it?” Angel asked, somehow disappointed despite his victory.

“That does sound stressful,” the Doctor said. “Honestly, I’m impressed you want her to come back.” He held up a hand. “I don’t mean that. Mostly. I probably don’t mean to mean that.” 

“Well,” Angel said, deflating a little. “Yeah. I care about her.” Said the broken record. He sighed, sitting back down in his chair. “She’s one of my closest friends. And--” he hesitated briefly, “--she’s really good in bed.” That is, she took particular care to pay attention to Angel and his cues. He hadn’t realized how much less having whatever great moves counted when actual communication was happening; when he could know that she’d do that thing he liked again because she noticed he’d liked it the first time. Her touch made him feel heard without having to talk, which was also maybe why he didn’t want to talk to her about any of this. It could ruin the magic.

The Doctor turned his interest back to the small device in his hand, looking at it and not at Angel. “What about the other person?” 

Angel shrugged. “We’re not together. Not really. Just when she comes to town. I’ve loved her for...centuries, really. But we can’t be together, so… She said not to wait for her, if someone else came along.”

Nodding, the Doctor took this information in. “It’s odd,” he said, “how important timing is to these things.” 

Angel almost smiled with how true it was. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “I’m worried that this whole thing has ruined that timing. For Judith and me, I mean.”

The Doctor looked up at Angel. “It might have,” he said. “I’m sorry.” 

To hear the Doctor admit it was better than any denial or empty assurance that everything would work out. It was like he finally realized Angel’s situation and acknowledged it; and with that acknowledgement, things could move forward. 

“Thanks,” Angel said quietly. “I guess there’s no other choice now...when she comes back, I mean. We’ll just have to...talk. And see what happens.”

“Maybe it’ll be good,” the Doctor said, hopefully. 

“Maybe,” Angel agreed. “Whatever ‘good’ means in this case. I think that’s part of the problem. What is the ‘good’ choice here?”

“I think that will depend on what she has to say,” the Doctor said softly. 

Angel nodded. And there was no way to predict what that would be. So Angel had a week to wait and stew over all the possible ways that conversation could pan out, and when he wasn’t doing that, he could ruminate endlessly over what his half of the conversation was going to be. “I’ve never been good at waiting for things like this,” he admitted.

“Me neither,” the Doctor said with a small smile. “Consequence of living on a TARDIS, I suppose.” 

“It does sound nice to just...skip over things like this,” Angel said. “I guess I was trying to do that with…” He gestured at his books.

The Doctor nodded. “I wonder what I’ve missed then,” he said, “skipping over this sort of thing.” 

“Agony,” Angel informed him. “Misery. Constant entrapment in your own anxiety. I support skipping it.”

“I knew it,” the Doctor said, looking pleased with his life choices to date. 

Angel let out a breath of laughter and shook his head. “Well,” he said, gripping the armrests of his chair, getting ready to get up. “Since we can’t do that, want to go pick a fight with whatever evil thing has decided to come out on this cold night?”

The Doctor stood up readily. He pulled at his coat and adjusted his bowtie. “Angel, I was _born_ ready.” He blinked at Angel’s expression until his serious expression fell into one of disappointment. “Okay, I won’t say that again. Yes, please. Let’s go out.” 


	9. Laughter and the Hopeless Comfort

Angel was laughing. At something the Doctor had said (which was genuinely funny and not just so-weird-you-have-to-laugh). If Angel wasn’t busy enjoying this increasingly-unfamiliar sensation of laughing, he might have marveled at it.

They were sitting at Angel’s favorite booth at the Dragon’s Crown (evil demons with evil plans were just not out in droves on that cold night), enjoying drinks and _actual_ conversation. Somehow, they had gotten on the topic of accidental hallucinogenic drug trips, and it turned out that the Doctor had a great story to tell and was good at telling it.

“So I finally manage to explain to the polar bear in the top hat that I accidentally ingested this very illegal drug and could he please help me find my way back to my blue box,” the Doctor was explaining, waving his hands wildly like he was still on this trip, “when he opened his mouth to speak and he _roared_. Angel, he _roared_ and I could smell his breath and I very suddenly realized that I was not hallucinating this polar bear.”

Still chuckling, Angel leaned forward as he murmured, “Oh shit.”

“Even worse, Angel, he _was_ wearing a top hat, but then I remembered that I’d given him _mine!_ ” 

Angel laughed again, wiping at a tear at the corner of his eye. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you? So what’d you do?”

“Try to get my hat back of course,” the Doctor said, like this was an obvious course of action. “It didn’t suit him. Of course, he’d grown fond of it. Who wouldn’t? And after some of me going one way and him the other, I make a Christmas gift of it and decide to book it out of there. So I wave to him,” the Doctor waved in demonstration, “and turn around as he’s rearing onto his hind legs and,” the Doctor paused, chuckling, “Angel, I _ran face first into the TARDIS._ ” He smacked his hand against his nose. “It was behind me the whole time!” 

“God,” Angel laughed again, resting his cheek in his palm, “you have the dumbest luck of anyone I’ve ever met. Your accidental trip beats mine by a longshot.”

The Doctor finished the pink liquid in the bottom of his glass. “Go on,” he said, waving his hand encouragingly. “I’m sure you were stupid enough.” 

Angel shook his head. “It’s a long, sobering story. I’ll tell you about the time I accidentally got the boys high, though.”

The Doctor adjusted his position, leaning forward attentively like a child at storytime. 

“Do you know the Cantu?” Angel mostly meant it rhetorically, but the Doctor frowned and shook his head, so Angel explained, “They’re nomadic demons, but a fairly neutral variety. Some evil, some good, you know. Anyway, they grow this mushroom and process it so you can smoke it. I have no idea how, they won’t tell anyone. They pass it around like a peace pipe, but they only offer it if everyone at the table is satisfied at the end of the deal. Working with them is always easy and quick and everyone leaves happy.” Angel leaned back again and he sobered a bit. “When I took the boys, I’d read over the tradition, but I’d never actually made any deals with them. I wish the book had mentioned that it was a hallucinogenic drug before I let the boys try it...”

The Doctor twisted the stem of his empty glass between his fingers. “That is a bit of an interesting choice of activities for kids to do.”

“I was teaching them how to deal with demons they’re _not_ trying to kill,” Angel replied. “Cultural sensitivity is key, and I’d read that refusing would have been an insult. I mean, not for the boys; they were just observing at that point. But I thought, ‘why not?’”

The Doctor grinned, “I love that one,” he said, “ _Why not?_ can be such a beautiful question.” 

Angel smiled, too. “Yeah...” he agreed. “Yeah, it can. I was terrified Judith would find out, though...”

“Always the mothers...” the Doctor lamented. “I can see why you were afraid of her.” 

“I still am,” Angel admitted.

“I think I’m close behind you.” The Doctor paused and added, “Actually, I’ll probably be directly behind you if it comes down to a confrontation.” 

“I’d never let it get that far,” Angel said. “Too dangerous.”

“Okay,” the Doctor said as if he were humoring Angel, “just giving you fair warning.” 

Angel nodded with a small smile. Silence fell for a bit, but the silences had been growing more comfortable between them. After a while, Angel said, “This is the first booth Judith and I sat in together.” Actually, since it was Angel’s favorite booth, most things he’d done at the Dragon’s Crown happened at that booth.

“Is it?” The Doctor looked delighted. He sat up a bit and turned to get a view of the booth they were sitting in. It was, predictably, a booth, but the Doctor turned around again and adjusted his position like he’d just been informed that he was sitting on the throne of England. “I can see why. It’s cozy...has a nice view,” he said, waving a hand at the view of the bar. 

Angel nodded. “She was waiting for Will,” Angel replied. “Good view of the door here, too.”

“I like it,” the Doctor said, nodding in agreement with himself. “Maybe I’ll try sitting with a view of the door more often.”

“It’s generally good to know your escape route,” Angel said, nodding.

“Sure. But,” the Doctor said, and leaned forward conspiratorially, “if you sit with your back to the door all of your enemies sneak up on you.” 

Angel frowned in confusion. “Don’t you want to see them coming?”

The Doctor leaned even farther forward, tapping his fingers along the table in excitement. “A bit, but letting them sneak up on you makes them comfortable.” He grinned like he’d just invented electricity. 

“You know what also works really well?” Angel said. “Attacking them and making them _un_ comfortable.”

The Doctor paused in his tapping, one finger still slightly lifted. His face became unreadable for a moment. It might have been anger that Angel saw, or sadness, but the only thing he definitely recognized was a hint of the same focused calculation that the Doctor had had when he was working on finding the TARDIS location. “Maybe,” he said, blinking the look away and giving Angel a joking smile. 

Angel didn’t like not being able to read the Doctor as well as he could read...well, anyone else, really. It was off-putting. An exception in Angel’s rather exceptional (and carefully-honed) abilities. And a bit of a puzzle, psychologically. Angel liked psychological puzzles, but not for wholesome academic reasons. 

“But?” Angel prompted. 

“But,” the Doctor said. “But, shouldn’t they get a chance to change their minds?”

Angel actually had to think about this. Eventually, he said, “Most of the things I deal with are evil. So...no.”

“Of course,” the Doctor said. He leaned back, satisfied, but then a second later he leaned forward again. “How do you know?” he asked. There was a challenge in his expression, like they were engaged in a game of riddles, or possibly the Doctor was daring him to explain himself. Both looked equally likely. 

“Well, they’re...” Angel was about to say that they were demons, but since not all demons were inherently evil, it didn’t seem like the best argument.

“I mean, they...” No, they didn’t always _act_ evil before he killed them, either. That wouldn’t work.

Angel shrugged. “They all have...” But that wasn’t true, either, was it? He’d killed things that had that Evil Look but weren’t actually. Wasn’t it his idea that the good ones wear lapel pins?

Finally, Angel settled for the one he knew was completely true. “I recognize most of the species around here. I know what they are, and for the most part, they’re not good.”

“Like vampires,” the Doctor supplied unhelpfully, “they’re always evil.”

Angel leaned forward and looked the Doctor straight in the eye. “Right.”

“Should I be scared?” the Doctor asked.

“You should be...cautious,” Angel replied carefully. 

The Doctor considered this seriously for a moment, and then he relaxed into a casual slump, the one elbow resting on the table. “I’m doomed,” he declared cheerfully. 

Angel shifted in his seat and scrutinized the Doctor. He wasn’t used to people taking the idea that he might actually be dangerous (what a surprise) so...cavalierly. After a moment of the Doctor being annoyingly oblivious to Angel’s expression, Angel said, “That’s it?”

The Doctor blinked his attention back to Angel. “What?” he asked. 

Angel sat up a little straighter, still trying to figure the Doctor out and failing miserably. “Usually people have questions or...” He paused. “Actually, they want me to tell them that I wasn’t serious and of course I’d never ever hurt them.”

The Doctor also sat up, possibly just to mirror Angel. “But you were serious,” he said simply, “and I believe you that you’d try to hurt me. So there go the questions. The only problem is that I’m supposed to be cautious and that,” the Doctor tugged on his jacket and then spread his hands slowly away from himself, “is just not how I roll.”

Angel considered the Doctor for a moment. “I don’t think the problem is people not believing me,” he said. “Still, tends to change the relationship a bit.”

“It probably would,” the Doctor said, “except...you didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.” 

Angel nodded. “No... I guess not,” he agreed, leaning back. After all, Angel had already tried to kill the Doctor once. 

The Doctor leaned back as well, watching some movement at the bar until the moment passed. “Similarly,” he said absently, “people tend to ask me questions about myself, but I never think they want the truth.” 

Angel looked up and caught the Doctor’s eye. “I do.”

The Doctor looked back at Angel, giving him a very long moment of his full attention. The next moment he picked up his empty glass and stood, tipping the glass at the bar to indicate that he was going back for a second pink, fruity, children’s drink. Stepping toward Angel, he paused. “Be cautious,” he said, quietly, briefly resting his hand on Angel’s shoulder. 

And then he waved at Marty, calling out a new request for some strange food. 

Angel stared after the Doctor for a long while. While he knew, in some ways he’d _seen_ the power the Doctor possessed, it had never seemed like something that would ever point in his direction. On some level, it was hidden so well that Angel tended to forget. He looked completely harmless. He acted beyond wholesome. He sometimes couldn’t walk in a straight line. 

But then, nothing so innocent-looking ever was, and as such a long and ardent student of body language, Angel usually picked up on the undertones of darkness in people. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see it in the Doctor; or not this version of him, anyway. The first one he’d met, yes. Absolutely. But this friendly, wide-eyed puppy?

Yes, Angel probably should be cautious.

He stood up and walked over to the bar to order another drink himself, nodding once to Marty to let him know he wanted the usual. He slid into the barstool next to the Doctor (who was chatting animatedly to someone on his other side), and Angel noticed the wide, ornately-gilded mirror behind the bar across from him. He didn’t usually like to choose this as a place to sit; it let creatures unfamiliar to him know a little too quickly exactly what he was. 

Marty appeared in front of Angel with his favorite brand of scotch and refilled his drink. Angel gave him a grateful nod.

Angel’s thoughts meandered over the conversation the Doctor had left him with, considering for the first time how truly alien he was. He had grown up with different instincts, different cultural norms, different instructions on how to behave that had brought him through destroying his own planet to sitting across from Angel at a bar with his back to the door so that his enemies could sneak up on him. What sort of background was _that?_

Angel looked over at the Doctor, who was now chatting with Marty, and when he paused to allow Marty to laugh, Angel asked, “Doctor, what do Time Lords believe about the afterlife?”

The Doctor started to continue his story, but paused, like doing an auditory double take. He turned to look at Angel with a raised eyebrow.“Are you planning on killing me?” the Doctor asked with a half-joking, half-worried smile. “I thought we were getting along.” 

“No,” Angel chuckled. “I mean, we are. I actually want to know.” He swiveled on his stool at the bar of the Dragon’s Crown to face the Doctor, dragging his glass of scotch along the wooden top. Marty moved away to tend to other customers.

“Well that’s certainly a relief,” the Doctor said, smiling and chewing on the end of a toothpick. He pulled it out and looked at it. “Marty could get those little swords at least, don’t you think?”

“This isn’t exactly the clientele for it,” Angel replied. “So?”

“Hmm?” The Doctor went back to chewing on his toothpick. For someone who talked so much, Angel found that he suddenly got quiet when anything personal came up. Although, what he was hiding was not exactly clear. Unlike Angel, the Doctor didn’t seem to be avoiding people or making friends. But what had he said before? That he didn’t think people wanted the truth?

Still, it made him oddly difficult to be friends with. At least by Angel’s definition.

Angel stared down the Doctor’s feigned ignorance. Silence, Angel had found, tended to work best on the Doctor. 

“You know, that’s a very complicated question,” the Doctor finally said, pulling the toothpick from his mouth and poking it at the air at Angel, like a finger. 

“I don’t need a simple answer,” Angel replied. “You’re good at talking. I’m good at listening. Go ahead.”

The Doctor leaned his elbows back on the bar, one leg sliding to the side of the stool so he could swing it. “What’s this about?” he asked, with half a laugh in his voice, like he was waiting for Angel to tell the punchline.

Angel shifted ever so slightly on his stool. “You’re very different,” he said slowly. “I was wondering about Time Lord…” Angel waved his free hand vaguely, searching for the right word. “Religion. Morality. What you were taught. Usually the afterlife has a lot to do with that, culturally.” Part of it, Angel realized, was that he also really wanted to know where the Doctor believed he’d sent his people after he’d destroyed his planet.

The Doctor continued to watch Angel for a minute. The smile faded from his face. Eventually he looked away, giving his jacket a little tug and spinning a full circle on the barstool he was sitting on until he ended up facing the bar, too. 

“There are stories...” he said quietly, “that we learn as children about the afterlife.” The Doctor pulled his glass a bit closer so he could poke at the cherry in it with his toothpick. “When we grow up it becomes clear that they aren’t true. There are theories once you grow up. We don’t really know, and so it is theory.” The Doctor spread his hands along the bar and looked over at Angel. “See?” 

“It’s all just theory until you’ve been there,” Angel replied. He took a sip of his drink. “So you don’t have any sort of religion? Faith?”

“I have a great deal of faith,” the Doctor told his glass, “and Time.” He took a sip and set the glass down again. He considered it for a long moment and then glanced over at Angel, scrutinizing him for just as long. He suddenly seemed to come to a decision. “Time...” he said again, pushing his glass out of the way, “and reality and everything is like a tree.” He set his three middle fingers on the bar and slowly pushed them forward. “It begins with a seed, which is the Heart of Time. It contains the template for every dimension and it grows into a trunk that is pure and strong and good. As it flows forward,” the Doctor paused to grin widely, “ _things_ happen. Decisions, thoughts, accidents, happenstance, birthdays, wars, inventions, _Saturdays._ ”

The Doctor paused, seemingly lost in the possibility of a single Saturday. He tapped his three fingers against the bar and started again, “All of the good things continue forward as a part of the trunk because they are the same, but the bad things, the cruel things, the hurtful things, and the poorly calculated things - they splinter off and create their own timeline or dimension or branch, if you will.” He pushed his fingers forward again, but this time his index finger separated from the others on its own divergent path. When it got too far away from the other fingers he lifted it off of the bar and then repeated the process with his ring finger, spreading it away from the trunk. 

“They’re not gone, those other timelines, they’re still connected to the trunk. It’s the same Time that flows through them. They’re just separate. Just a little.” The Doctor shrugged, “They’re not even that different, but then it happens again: new branches and new decisions and responses.” His little finger briefly joined his ring finger only to branch off on its own. “Each little cruelty branches you off further from the bigger whole. Like branches and then twigs and then sprouts, but bigger of course. A googolplex of dimensions each branching off and intertwining...” 

The Doctor’s hand wandered away from the illustration in search of his glass. “When the universe ends, it’s like the branch snaps off. It falls and eventually rejoins the Heart of Time. It returns to that original, true template.” He pulled his glass back in front of him.

“Like reincarnation,” Angel said.

“If it helps,” the Doctor allowed, waving his hand and grimacing slightly in a way that indicated that he didn’t really think it was like that at all. 

He dropped his hand back to the bar and was silent for a moment, like Angel’s interruption had made him forget the whole conversation. “We try,” the Doctor said softly into the silence between them, looking up to meet Angel’s eyes, “to live our lives as close to the Heart of Time as possible. And Time Lords...” the Doctor stopped abruptly, and Angel recognized the pause in the Doctor’s talk as the Time War. It was like a verbal limp, where his usually fast running words would inevitably give out for a moment. The Doctor looked away quickly, back down at his very pink mocktail. 

When he looked up again his warm smile was back in its place. He turned around in his stool, giving the action a perfect air of nonchalance. 

“But you asked about death, didn’t you?” the Doctor said cheerfully. “Traditionally, when a Time Lord dies, their minds are stored in the Matrix, which holds the entirety of the Time Lord consciousness. But that was destroyed with Gallifrey, so I suppose that just leaves me out in the cold, doesn’t it?” He shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “They never considered me very wise anyway, so I guess no one has to bicker now about not including me.” 

Angel was silent for an extra moment. He took a sip of his drink, and then said, staring at the glass, “So you’re going to Hell, then, too.”

The Doctor took another sip from his drink as well. Looking over at Angel, he opened his mouth once, like he was about to speak, but instead just looked away again. He fished the toothpick out of his glass and stuck it in his mouth, chewing it in some odd impersonation of a cowboy. 

After another long moment of silence while both men stared into their dwindling drinks, Angel finally said in a tone almost too soft for the Doctor to hear, “I wonder if it’ll help having a friend there?”

The Doctor looked over at Angel again. A small smile crept onto the corner of his mouth. “We could open a bar,” he suggested.

The corner of Angel’s mouth twitched, too, and he gave in. “Yeah,” he said without looking up. “But I don’t think they’ll let us.”

“I’ll take it up with the management if we run into trouble,” the Doctor said confidently. “I’ve had run-ins with the Devil before and I’d like to think I came out on top.” 

“It’s not just the Devil that runs it,” Angel said, his expression darkening as he played with his glass on the counter. “It’s...all of them. Satan, Hades, yourself....every belief system there is about hell: it’s all true and it’s all the same place. Each religion just picks the stuff they like best and teach that.” 

The Doctor winced. “I don’t like that last one,” he commented with a sniff. “But I still think we could swing a bar.” 

Angel shrugged. “I guess I’m down to try,” he replied.

“That’s all I ask,” the Doctor said with a shake of his head, like he’d been trying to get Angel to do something incredibly simple. 

Silence fell, and Angel’s thoughts sank back into his time in Hell, which he generally tried not to think about at all. A moment later, he found himself speaking again without really being sure why, except that this was the sort of thing he thought the Doctor might be willing to talk about more than most other people. 

“Do you know what the worst part about Hell is?” Angel paused briefly, but continued before the Doctor could reply. “You know what you’re missing.” Angel looked up at the Doctor, his expression stoic even if he didn’t feel it. “They allow you to know exactly what heaven must be like, just so you know how much you’re missing not being there. How much and...who.”

The Doctor’s expression became unreadable again. It wasn’t a lack of emotions or the obviously exaggerated glee, but more of a jumble of things that Angel couldn’t sort out the source of. The sadness in his eyes made a certain type of sense, but the relief around the edges clashed. Both seemed equally honest. Neither seemed like a good reason to ask, “Are you alone, then?” and certainly not in a voice that was so very calm that Angel almost missed the small tint of fear, like a single drop of water sliding off of a piece of ice. 

“In Hell?” Angel took a deep breath. “Utterly. Except you never forget what it was like not being alone.” Angel finished the rest of his drink. “I’ve heard that heaven is just the opposite: they’re allowed to know exactly what hell is like so they remember how happy and together they are in heaven.” Angel paused. “I’m not sure what they do about people in heaven who knew and loved people in hell, though. I’ve never gotten the chance to ask.”

Silence again; the kind that made Angel suddenly more aware of the noises around them. Marty was shaking a drink in a tumbler down the bar and the couple who had been sitting near the back for most of the night were laughing as they made their way out the door. 

“Umbrellas,” the Doctor said abruptly. 

Angel started slightly. “What?”

The Doctor stood up. “For the bar,” he said. “We’re going to have tiny umbrellas. I’ll put them in _all_ of the drinks.” 

Angel stared at the Doctor for a moment, and then nodded. He understood, even if he wouldn’t have come to the same conclusion. “The bar should be wood,” he said. “And the stools cushioned with leather.”

“Mmm,” the Doctor nodded his approval, “and an asymmetric pseudo-Martian design for the back.”

“And a tavern wench.”

The Doctor snorted and then tried to follow it up with a disapproving glare. It didn’t work. “I guess I’ll need someone to help serve drinks.” 

“I’m pretty sure some of the ones I knew as a human are there,” Angel said. “Brie was really good. We could hire her.”

The Doctor clapped his hands together once, walking around to the other side of Angel. “Good, I’ll leave you in charge of hiring...unless I find someone I like. Also, if you meet anyone calling herself ‘the Rani’ she’s not invited in.” 

Angel nodded softly and mused, “Maybe we need a bouncer, too...”

The Doctor leaned over the bar, apparently trying to catch a glance at the shelves that had been hidden from him. Marty shot a look at him and the Doctor slid sheepishly back down. “The Master might be there,” he said, and then quickly amended, “ _My_ Master. Not your stupid one. He might bounce on weekends if we asked nicely.” 

Angel glanced at the Doctor. 

“And if you ever tell him that I described him as ‘my Master’ I’m going to literally make sure that you were never born.” 

Angel hesitated and then allowed himself a small grin. He stood up. “If we’re bringing in people we know, Spike’s our weekday bouncer. It’ll keep him outside.”

The Doctor laughed, “Alright, Spike at the door, Master on weekends when he’s not being particularly annoying, and King Herod at the bar.” He added when Angel gave him another look, “The guy could mix drinks like you wouldn’t believe.” 

“And you and me?” Angel asked.

“ _I’m_ a host,” the Doctor said, tugging his bowtie into place again. “And you...can sit in the back and look threatening. It adds character.” 

Angel considered that for a moment, realized that that’s probably what he’d do anyway, and nodded. “Sounds good,” he said, agreeing to the entire ridiculous plan, but with the glaring thought that it was a hopeless comfort he was agreeing to. Perhaps that’s what they should call it. The Hopeless Comfort. Angel placed a few bills on the counter and told the Doctor such.

“I like that,” the Doctor agreed, holding the door for Angel as they made their way out into the night. “I like knowing that I’ll always be in good company.” 

Angel gave him a little smile. He realized that he had completely ruined the jovial atmosphere of the night, but he felt like he’d gained something with the Doctor that was better than shared laughter. “Thanks,” he said as they made their way down the ancient cobblestone streets. “For answering my question.”

The Doctor’s smile was small, but it reached his eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said. 

They both nodded and continued down the street, enjoying the silence that had grown comfortable over the last week. And somehow, Angel took comfort from that.


	10. The Benefits of Working Together and Apart

The Doctor was a great roommate.

Not, he had to admit (although this admission was for his own mind only and not for general consumption) completely naturally. He had to repress his natural inclination to fix things because Angel didn’t want things to be fixed; he wanted things ‘as they were, Doctor,’ and also, if the Doctor ‘disassembled one more thing,’ Angel had said that he’d start disassembling the Doctor. But he’d said it in a mostly joking voice. 

Mostly joking, but the Doctor had decided to let the refrigerator go right on being inefficient. For the sake of being a good roommate. 

And Angel, the Doctor found, had relaxed after their talk about Judith. He would stop in the bakery with the Doctor as they came back to the apartment in the early hours of the morning after spending the night searching for wrongs to right. And if there were no wrongs to right, they would visit the bar and the Doctor was starting to see why Angel liked it so much. The Doctor _knew_ people there. Not particularly well, but he recognized them and they recognized him and that was part of the appeal. It was like being a part of something. He was part of a _town._ He hoped that maybe someone could describe him as “one of the guys” before the TARDIS returned. That had a thrilling new sound to it, and the Doctor was excited about maybe having it apply to him in that casual, small-town-intimate sense. 

But it wasn’t all great either. While Angel was usually pretty clear on what parts of the Doctor annoyed him, the Doctor still sometimes got the feeling that he maybe wasn’t being the greatest of greatest roommates. Sometimes when the Doctor got out of the shower, and was padding about while he brushed his teeth, Angel would raise an eyebrow at him. The eyebrow seemed to say, “Really?” but the Doctor couldn’t quite figure out what part of what he’d been doing was strange or deserved comment. 

Or, more strange than that was that sometimes while the Doctor was cooking himself a little snack in Angel’s kitchen, he would catch sight of the floor near the wall between the small table and the doorway and he’d feel a deep, sinking sadness. It felt a little like failure with a faint aftertaste of anger. 

It wasn’t a normal reaction to a bit of floor. And he’d tried staring at Angel’s floor in other places (which had also earned him a raised eyebrow, but a less judgmental one), and none of _them_ made him feel anything but kind of bored. 

Late on the tenth day (or early since it was nearly sunrise and Angel was preparing for bed), the Doctor was making tea and eyeing the suspicious spot on the floor when the thought came to him as simple as a memory that the sadness he felt was because someone had died there. 

Which as far as he knew, someone hadn’t. But the intuition had been so strong that when Angel walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, the Doctor asked, “Angel, are you _sure_ your kitchen’s not haunted?”

Angel looked back at the Doctor. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Why? Did you see something?”

Just the floor, but Angel lived in an interesting enough world that the Doctor nodded at the sad patch of light grey tile. “Your tile is sad,” the Doctor said. “It’s not normal for tile.” 

Angel straightened up and leaned one arm on the top of the open fridge door. “My tile,” he repeated slowly, “is sad.”

“Right?” the Doctor agreed heartily. It was _weird_ , Angel clearly agreed. “Just--” he pointed at the offending patch, “--that bit, there.” 

Looking like he couldn’t believe he was about to do this, Angel closed the fridge door, came over to the Doctor, and stared at the floor with him, hands on his hips. After a moment, he said, “Doctor. It’s just floor.”

“Really?” the Doctor said again, looking between Angel and the floor and back again. 

Angel shrugged. “I’m not getting any ghost vibes. And I know what those vibes feel like. They’re not good vibes.”

Which was why the Doctor had brought it up. He was getting distinctly _bad_ vibes. But whatever he was picking up on, it seemed to be from a sense that either Angel didn’t have or wasn’t attuned to. The Doctor smiled his goofy, I’m-so-weird smile that he used whenever he was accidentally more alien than he intended to be. “It’s probably nothing,” he said reassuringly. 

Angel didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and went back to the fridge. “If the temperature drops suddenly,” he said as he opened the door, “let me know and look for something iron to hit the ghost with.”

The Doctor nodded, the information sounded interesting and at this point, maybe useful. He wasn’t sure really. “Do you see many ghosts?” he asked, turning away from the sad bit of floor. When he didn’t look at it, its sadness slipped away easily like an old memory. 

“Not as many as you’d think,” Angel replied. He stared blankly into the fridge. “What the hell did I come here to get?” He shook his head. “I must be getting old…” He closed the fridge door and turned to face the Doctor. “No, ghosts aren’t that prolific. Not dangerous ones, anyway.”

The Doctor pulled the teapot from the stove just as it started to boil. “That’s good to know,” he said. “I hate to think of people being trapped.” 

Angel nodded in agreement. “Being trapped is the worst,” he said, sounding like he was thinking of a particular incident. Then he shook himself and looked up again. “Well, I guess I’m heading to bed. Are you _sure_ you don’t want the bed?”

The Doctor smiled knowingly and shook his head. “Don’t need it,” he insisted, even though he had to admit that if the TARDIS took much longer, he was actually going to need to sleep properly instead of make do with his occasional nap. 

Shaking his head and shrugging, Angel said, “Okay…” and started to make his way out of the kitchen. “Night, then.”

“Goodnight, Angel,” the Doctor said. “Sleep well.”

“You too,” Angel replied. Then, already in the living room, added, “Or...well, you know…”

The Doctor did. He smiled, although Angel couldn’t see it. He appreciated the goodwill directed at him. He needed it, after all. Maybe it wasn’t the floor that was haunted so much as some ignored part of the Doctor’s mind, reminding him that his own death was lurking just around the corner. 

~~~~~

The Doctor was a surprisingly okay-ish roommate. Sure, he took apart Angel’s appliances and had gotten water all over his hardwood floor, but he at least seemed to learn from Angel’s reactions. Now all Angel had to do was glare at the hand that was inching toward an unruly appliance and it would retreat almost immediately.

And sure, the Doctor was kind of embarrassing to bring to the Dragon’s Crown, where he ordered Shirley Temples and talked to everyone with complete disregard for social order and custom, but his lack of social graces actually helped smooth over a misunderstanding between a pack of Brun demons (aliens, the Doctor insisted), and an angry Mogrite, which had been about to get deeply ugly. Marty had even given the Doctor his drink on the house in thanks.

Despite the Doctor’s idiosyncrasies, Angel was finding that his presence was a not unwelcome distraction from his current situation with Judith (not that there would _be_ a situation if the Doctor hadn’t crashed back into his life). The Doctor was someone to talk to, someone to solve problems with. He was a fresh perspective.

He was, deep down, driving Angel insane.

It was the kind of deep down insanity that builds insidiously; the kind you can ignore until you can’t. Angel missed his space; his quiet. He missed not having to worry about whether he would have appliances he knew how to work the next time he walked into a room. He missed having normal conversations that didn’t involve trying to figure out how the hell a tile could be “sad.”

The anticipation of the end of the week grew in Angel’s mind, and as their deadline drew nearer, Angel started to think about how he actually wanted to approach the problem magically. The Doctor would, presumably, be helping, and that changed things. It was a little like having a parent watching, and Angel had to admit that it was probably for the best to have the extra tether on his sanity. He couldn’t go summoning _all_ the deities, no matter how much he wanted to.

After all, when it really came down to it, it was more a problem of _when_ Judith and the TARDIS would return, and not _how_. Looking at it from a temporal lens changed Angel’s focus in his research, and having a Time Lord on his side couldn’t exactly hurt.

Angel was flipping through his newest book on temporal magic - a slim volume, since temporal magic was so tricky to work with - one morning (or late afternoon, but the sun was still up) over his breakfast in the kitchen when the Doctor leaned closer to read over his shoulder. 

“That’s a bit...” the Doctor started with a critical frown. He quickly stepped away. “Your books seem a bit fuzzy on the geography of the Vortex.” 

“The Time Vortex?” Angel glanced up at him. “Well yeah, it’s not like it’s easy to map. Or even see.”

“I’m sure they’re trying their hardest,” the Doctor said. He turned away, fussing with his mug and the teapot at the stove. “But the diagram they have-- It’s from a different dimension. That’s why they’re getting the weird layering. Must be an old book. The dimensions aren’t easily bridged anymore.” 

Angel looked down at his book. It _was_ very old… “You don’t happen to have an updated map in your weirdly-deep pockets, do you?” he asked. “I tried the temporal location spell back here…” He flipped to the front of the book to look at the spell, which was actually slightly different than the one that he’d tried from the book on working with multiple dimensions he’d gotten from Ferguson, but in essence it was the same. “But I couldn’t read it. The results, not the spell.”

The Doctor turned around, suddenly less critical and more interested. “What’d they look like? The results?” 

Angel shook his head. “Weird. Swirly.” He lifted his fingers to mime the swirly-ness. “Kind of like a thunderstorm. Made no sense.”

The Doctor blinked. “Wait, you did a spell that showed you the vortex?” he said slowly. “And...you didn’t...” he pointed to his chest. 

“What, tell you?” Angel snorted. “It was a thunderstorm. And you’d just soaked my hardwood floor. And--” He shifted. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate my attempts to do magic and one-up your…” He pointed towards the living room, where the big, blinking, rotating machine was supposed to go _ding_ when there was _stuff_ sat taking up half the room.

The Doctor shot a thoughtful glance through the doorway at the machine. It clicked and turned slightly. With a nod, the Doctor seemed to agree, but said, “But it’s _information_ , Angel! That’s to get information.” He jerked his thumb at the machine outside of the kitchen. “But you’ve been holding out on the good stuff! You _actually_ saw the Vortex where she was? Like a thunderstorm you say? Would you say it looked angry or just turbulent? Was it purplish? Did you see--no, I think you lack the senses--still! Come on, out with it.” 

Angel blinked. He was supposed to have gotten a single word in? “Uh--” Also, _he’d_ been holding out on the good stuff? Angel wasn’t sure if he felt more frustrated at himself or the Doctor right now. What were his questions again? “Not super angry,” Angel said. “Well, maybe a little angry, I guess. Kind of peeved, you could say. But maybe with a pissed-off kind of flare? I’m not sure how angry vortexes can get… And definitely purplish… I think. There was blood all over the orb, so…”

“Well that’s great news!” the Doctor said, a grin lighting up his face. “She’s probably local. I mean, I’d have to see it for myself, but it definitely eliminates the dates a century out. There’s a big bump in the...the point is after about another century it starts to get sort of bluish.” 

Angel, however, frowned. “But the light was coming through blood,” he reminded him. “Blue and red makes purple. And are you saying that if you saw it, you’d be able to pinpoint _when_ she is?”

“Pinpoint is a bit...” the Doctor wiggled his hand back and forth, “but I could definitely tell you if we need to worry. It’s like if I showed you a picture of a street you recognize, you’d know about where it was. I’m better at recognizing the 1980’s, but I’ve seen this side of the vortex a good bit.” 

Angel stood up from the table suddenly, his chair scraping against the tile. “I still have all the stuff we need to do it. Pause on our wait-a-week deal? Just to see when they are, roughly?”

The Doctor set his mug aside. “So long as it’s not going to involve sacrificing 666 pigs. I don’t think I have the constitution.” He opened one of Angel’s cabinets. “I don’t think you have that on hand so I’m feeling pretty good about it. Is _that_ what’s under the tile?” He pointed at the floor and then curled his finger back at Angel’s expression about the introduction of the floor issue again. “No pigs then? Whose blood are we spilling? Asking for...me.” 

“Well, my first book called for fawn’s blood, but this one says that any will do.” Angel picked up his half-drunk mug from the table and gestured toward the Doctor with a small smile. “It’s even still warm.”

“Then I’m on board!” the Doctor said, bouncing in excitement. “I’ve always suspected that I’d be good at magic. Will there be hats? Can I suggest hats?” 

“No,” Angel told him flatly, picking up the book and heading toward the living room. “And no broomsticks, either,” he added, anticipating the next question.

“I don’t need a _broomstick_ ,” the Doctor scoffed, like this was a ridiculous conclusion to come to. He followed Angel out into the living room, deftly stepping around the large Thing Detector. “I’m just thinking we’d look keen in pointy hats,” he mumbled to himself.

“We’d look ridiculous,” Angel replied, “and besides, I don’t have any pointy hats.” He stopped at his apothecary table to grab some candles, but the rest of the ingredients were still stashed in the library.

“I will struggle on,” the Doctor said, reaching out to take some of the candles from Angel’s hands. 

Angel handed him the candles, picked up the mug of blood again, and said as he led the way into the library, “Your courage is inspiring.”

In the library, Angel set the mug and the book aside on the small table beside the chair and bent in front of the cabinet that held the rest of the ingredients. “You’re good at drawing circles,” he said, remembering the papers and papers of circular calculations the Doctor had drawn at the Dragon’s Crown. He offered the Doctor the bag of sand. “Want to pour that into a circle? Doesn’t have to be big - maybe twenty centimeters diameter.”

The Doctor took the bag of sand and hefted it in his hand. He sniffed at it and shrugged and then set about his task of pouring the sand in a circle on the floor with a smooth confident movement. “Does the type of sand matter?” he asked. “Is it a salt content thing?” 

“No,” Angel replied, counting how many different kinds of eyes he still had left. “It’s the circle that matters. Circles have a living energy. Actually, if we were more worried about wind we’d draw it with chalk.”

“So it’s efficient?” the Doctor said. “I assume the wind is an overflow of excess energy. You’d want to channel it into something that’s not...heat. As fun as heat generation is, I don’t think you’d want to cook yourself with magic.” 

Angel looked over at the Doctor, surprised. “You’ve studied magic?”

The Doctor poked a few grains of sand into the circle. “I’ve studied systems. Machines. Physics. And I’ve seen magic. I tend to think they’re not so different. Energy is energy, right?” 

“I guess…” Angel agreed reluctantly. He brought the bags of eyes and crushed rose petals over and set them next to the circle. Then he went back for a bowl and the crystal orb. “But magic energy works in different ways than physics energy. Otherwise it wouldn’t be called magic.”

The Doctor nodded agreeably. “So what else can I do?” He rubbed his palms together. 

“Light some candles,” Angel replied. “How many do we have? Three? Make a triangle. Triangles are nice.”

“Uh,” the Doctor juggled the candles. “And the candle on your bookshelf. I could make a pyramid, with it, I guess, but then I’d need to talk my way into the apartment upstairs. Or downstairs. Is an upside down pyramid bad?” 

“That depends on the forces you’re summoning,” Angel replied, going back for a third trip to the cabinet to gather the last few things. “I think a pyramid is overkill if it means going to meet my neighbors. Just...make a nice shape with whatever we have. It’s more of a help than a necessity in this case.”

The Doctor nodded and set the candles out around the circle at equal intervals. Angel sat down with the rest of the ingredients and started pouring things into the bowl. He had _just_ enough squirrel eyes left.

“Here,” Angel said when the Doctor was done lighting the candles. “Just a pinch from each of these four bags.” He gave him the four bags of dried leafy herbs they’d need.

The Doctor added a pinch of each ingredient after sniffing each one with interest. “Do you like doing magic?” he asked as he set the last bag aside. 

Angel didn’t think he’d ever been asked that before, so he had to think about it as he shook out a dozen bat’s eyes. “I guess so,” he replied slowly, setting the bag aside. “It comes in handy. And I don’t _not_ like it.” He picked up the last bag of eyes (newt) and opened it up. “I’m kind of suited for it, being a vampire.”

“Are vampires better at magic than other people?” the Doctor stood from his crouch and took a step back to survey the setup. 

“Well, we’re better at _channeling_ magic,” Angel replied. “Since we’re kind of magical ourselves. There aren’t many vampires who choose to practice magic, but learning is easier for us. Like having a natural talent.”

The Doctor made a thoughtful noise. “So you decided to put in the effort to develop that talent?” 

“I more fell into it,” Angel replied, sealing up the last bag. “I needed a way to make money when I moved here, and I’d already had a lot of practice with it, so when I offered to prepare a spell for someone for a fee, word started to spread.”

“You don’t find it strange that vampires are naturally talented at it, but don’t commonly pursue it?” the Doctor asked.

“Not really,” Angel replied, picking up the mug of blood (the final ingredient) and pouring it over the mixture in the bowl. “Most people who pursue magic are looking for either the power or the rush. Or both. Vampires get that just by feeding.”

“Ah,” the Doctor said. “Still, seems...” he tipped his head, watching the blood pour into the bowl, “...useful.” 

“Yeah, well… To be honest, most vampires aren’t that...smart.” Angel winced a little and picked up the wooden spoon he kept with the bowl. “They kind of have a one-track mind. Does the book say to stir clockwise or counterclockwise? And seven times, right?”

The Doctor moved over to pick the book up from the table. “Seven times clockwise in the Northern Hemisphere,” the Doctor read out. 

Angel stirred seven times clockwise and then set the spoon aside. He held out his hand for the book. “I’ll do the chant,” he said. “At the end, I’ll pour this on the crystal in the circle, and then you look into it and see what it says.”

“Okay,” the Doctor said, passing the book back to Angel. He sat on the floor opposite of Angel with his legs crossed. His hands settling on his knees, he leaned forward, looking like he was getting ready to jump back to his feet. 

Angel cleared his throat and took a few breaths before starting the chant. Just like before, the wind stirred almost immediately and Angel could feel the familiar connection to magical energy start to flow in his body. The wind picked up with each line, but never faster than a steady breeze, and on the last word, Angel poured the contents of the bowl out over the crystal orb. The eyes moved of their own accord, searching the dimensions, and a moment later the orb glowed. Angel could see the tumbling, chaotic storm clouds reflected inside the orb.

“There it is!” the Doctor said, leaning forward and peering into the orb. “Oh, aren’t you clever? Angel, this is quite impressive!” He tipped his head as the blood dripped down, trying to see under it. 

Angel couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud. “What do you see?” he asked. “Do you know when they are?”

“Well they’re definitely close,” the Doctor said, grinning. “Look, this bit here in the distance, that’s the blip a century away that I was talking about, but they’re moving through the calm area here...” the Doctor chuckled. “To be honest, I’d say any day now. Particularly this bit...” he pointed over toward the side of the orb. “That definitely looks familiar. Kind of Tuesday-ish don’t you think?” 

Angel leaned forward to look. “That kind of smooth area?” he asked. “Really? That’s...that’s Tuesday? _This_ Tuesday?”

“No, I’d say last Tuesday,” the Doctor said. “I wish you didn’t have to dump blood on this. It’s counterproductive. “But they’ve passed it. So I’d say maybe...another day or two at the most.” He looked up and grinned. “We’re almost there!” 

Angel straightened up, dumbfounded. “That’s _it?_ ” he practically cried. “ _That’s_ what we needed to do this whole time?”

The Doctor grinned. “I guess so,” he said, leaning back on his hands. He let out a sigh. “I should have guessed that the solution would be to help with magic,” he muttered. 

The part of Angel’s mind that wasn’t reeling that they had their answer and it was so _soon_ felt a little irritated at the Doctor’s tone. “Why?” he demanded. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Doctor looked up, surprise on his face. “That I expect myself to guess the solution?” he said. “It’s my thing.” 

“Oh,” Angel said, nodding. “That’s fine.” He sighed, looking down at the bloody orb. Its glow was already dying. Time to clean up. As Angel set the book aside and leaned forward to pick up the orb, he said, “Thank you. For...all that.”

“I’m practically an expert now,” the Doctor chuckled. “And you’ll be rid of me soon. That’s good, isn’t it?” 

Well, yes, it was. But it felt unkind to say that, and weirdly, a little untrue. “You can come back to visit,” Angel told him. “If you want.”

The Doctor smiled one of his half-smiles. “That’s very kind of you,” he said. 

Angel wasn’t used to being called ‘kind.’ He nodded a little uncomfortably and stood up. “I should wash this…” he said. He took it into the kitchen, where he washed it in the sink and set it in the drying rack. When he got back to the library, the Doctor had stood and had collected the candles onto the little table next to the reading chair. The air smelled of freshly snuffed-out candle smoke. The Doctor was flipping through the spellbook with one finger while the book also rested on the table. “Do you think it would have gone differently, if we weren’t as worried about when Judith would get back?” he asked. 

As Angel went to gather up the spell ingredients and put them away in the cabinet (cursing himself when he realized he’d forgotten to take the bowl and spoon to wash, too), he wondered about the Doctor’s question; not _if_ things would have gone differently, but _how much_. 

“Yeah,” Angel eventually said, tossing the ingredients into the cabinet in their proper places. “I definitely wouldn’t have taken you to Decade, for one. You can be the judge of how good that would have been.” He offered the Doctor a small side smile.

“I don’t think I would have gotten to know you so well,” the Doctor said. He flipped the book closed and tucked his hand casually into his trouser pocket. “I guess it’s a good thing in the end.” 

This time, Angel’s smile was a little more genuine. He relaxed a little bit. “Most people wouldn’t look at it that way,” he said softly. “Thanks.” He thought about it some more and then added, “I guess I got to know you better, too.” He closed the doors to the cabinet and stood up. He turned to face the Doctor. “Which I gather isn’t something you often do.”

The Doctor laughed. “Nah, I’m sure people know me well enough. I like to lead with my best foot. That way I’m always pleased with how they know me. It’s the left, by the way: my best foot. The right keeps finding things to stub on in the dark so I’m going with the left.” 

Angel was going to take that response as, _You’re absolutely right, Angel, how did you deduce that so astutely?_ So Angel replied, “It takes one to know one.” He let out of breath. “So. Since magic worked for my problem, want to see if it’ll work for yours?”

The Doctor fluttered his free hand in the air between them. “What problem?” he asked.

“Utah.”

“Right,” the Doctor said with a sigh. He fidgeted. “I don’t know that magic can stop it,” he said. 

“Maybe not,” Angel agreed. “But Summer Rain said there are alternatives. We can look.” He gestured to the library they were in. “Or go ask her. You _do_ know the time and place of her death, right?”

The Doctor shook his head. “That is, once the TARDIS is back, I could look to find out,” he said. “I’m still not convinced that it’s a good plan to trade with her. But,” he looked around the library, “let’s look here,” he said. “Maybe we’re already sitting on the solution like we were with Judith.” 

Angel nodded and turned to scan his shelves. He also liked to avoid trades with the fae, if he could help it. Someone always got less than they bargained for. And that someone was usually the not-fae. He picked out a few volumes that he thought might have something useful and took them over to the Doctor, setting them on the table next to him.

“I’m going to finish cleaning up,” Angel said. “Then I’ll help. Want me to heat up your tea from earlier?”

The Doctor picked up the books. “Thanks, Angel,” he said warmly. “You’re a good friend.” 

Angel was going to take that as a yes on the tea, so he nodded and turned away quickly so the Doctor wouldn’t see his expression. Regardless of his offer to help research and his hospitality (especially as reluctant as it had been at first), Angel still wasn’t sure he counted as a good friend to the Doctor. Good friends didn’t drink the other’s blood and leave them on their ship to die. (Well, it wasn’t like Angel hadn’t tried to go back to save him. It was the ship’s fault for locking him out, he was pretty sure.)

Angel picked up the bowl and spoon and took them to the kitchen to wash them, thinking about all the possible magic avenues he could to avoid one’s inevitable death. Part of him felt like if he solved this problem for the Doctor, it would even the scales for them. Saving his life would more than repay almost killing him, right? 

But nearly everything he thought of still ran into the problem of Time. Angel didn’t know much about time travel and paradoxes, but all sources, fiction and nonfiction concurred: paradoxes = bad. And if the Doctor had witnessed his own death, then he must, somehow witness it.

“Body-switching,” Angel said to the Doctor when he re-entered the library carrying a dustpan and broom to sweep up the sand.

The Doctor had settled into the chair and set his stack of books save one which he was flipping through. “Wouldn’t that require a spare body?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Angel said. “But decoys are...well, okay, they’re hard to fake _well_ , but do you know what the fae are good at? Glamours. Like that waterfall.”

The Doctor winced. “Ah, well...that’s...unfortunate.” 

“Why?”

“It’s--” the Doctor waved a hand, “--you know, if you’re trying--” he closed the book and then opened it again. “It’s see-through-able, isn’t it?” His ears had turned a darker shade of pink.

“The waterfall? Or glamours in general?” Angel asked, completely bemused as to why waterfalls would make the Doctor blush.

“Well, that _particular_ glamour,” the Doctor said quickly. “I mean, it’s a thought. But it needs to be very convincing. And capable of picnics. And probably hugs. And wearing hats.” He lowered the book back to his lap. “Can a fae glamour do that?” 

“Well,” Angel sighed, “it can definitely do hats. What _is_ it with you and hats, by the way? Some sort of fetish?”

“They’re cool,” the Doctor said simply. 

“Right…” Angel rolled his eyes. “Well, a powerful fae can do all of those things. So...yes, it’s possible. But you’d have to make some sort of a deal with that fae.”

The Doctor winced. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “As I said, I’m not sacrificing someone else’s safety for mine.” 

Angel nodded, understanding. Normally, he wasn’t the type to do that, either. He had, though, when he’d bitten into the Doctor’s neck to save himself. He’d been intending to stop much sooner, and he would have if it had been anything like human blood. There were times when Angel recalled the high from Time Lord blood so vividly he thought there might _still_ be some in his veins.

Angel shook himself a little. “I forgot your tea,” he said, and left to go get it.

He reheated the Doctor’s tea, still thinking about the problem now that he had the mental resources to spare for it. With Judith returning within a few days, helping the Doctor avoid his death seemed suddenly much more important than it had before, and he even felt a little guilty for not thinking more of it. After all, scales were in the balance.

He took the Doctor’s tea back to him and then settled on the floor with one of the books in the stack.

They searched together while the Doctor worked his way through his cup of tea. And then continued to work into the night. It was the Doctor that stood first, stretching and pacing out into the living room. “I’m going for a walk,” he said. “There’s too much of this.” 

Angel knew exactly what he meant. “Can I come with? Maybe there’s evil to vanquish.”

The Doctor smiled, more genuinely than he had since they’d started to look into solving his death. “Yeah,” he said, “let’s go do some good.” 

~~~~~

For the next day and a half, Angel mulled over the problem of avoiding the Doctor’s death in Utah; much more so than the Doctor himself. While Angel was content to research for hours, the Doctor insisted on action. Going ‘out’ and doing ‘things.’ Which Angel wasn’t opposed to on principle, especially since going out and doing things was just as good at distracting Angel from his nervousness about Judith’s return.

It was strange, wanting so badly to know when she would be back, when things would get back to normal, and now almost dreading that very thing. What was ‘normal,’ anyway? Taking her to bed every opportunity they got? Or walking her home like a gentleman and saying goodnight?

One of those was the correct answer, and that answer would be given at some point after Judith’s return. In anywhere from ‘hours-to less-than-days!’ the Doctor had told Angel that morning.

In all of Angel’s mulling over the Doctor’s problem, one solution had occurred to him. It had been late at night, when his darker thoughts tended to take over just before he fell asleep. When he awoke and remembered the solution, he found that it at least stood the test of the waking brain: it wasn’t _completely_ ridiculous. Just dark.

Angel kept it secret from the other solutions he’d thrown out there. None of them had withstood the Doctor’s strict rule of “I’m not sacrificing someone else’s safety for mine.” And again, Angel couldn’t fault his rule.

“Do you think she has an alternative you’d actually use?” Angel asked as he washed his breakfast mug. “One that doesn’t put others in danger?”

The Doctor stood resting his shoulders against the walls in the back corner of the kitchen. He moved his teacup from hand to hand. “She seemed to think that I would be satisfied with her answer.” Angel hadn’t even mentioned Summer Rain’s name, so it spoke to how she must have been on the Doctor’s mind, too, that he picked up the thread without stumbling. “It’s difficult to know of course.” The Doctor sipped the tea. “I’ll keep it as an alternative anyway,” he said. “If I’m truly desperate.” 

Angel nodded. Summer Rain _had_ seemed to have an innate knowing about which trades would be fair. Of course, she had alluded only, and allusions were often as not lies when it came to the fae.

Angel finished washing up from breakfast, and then, since the sun was still up, suggested they go back to researching. “Or you can take the bed, if you want to sleep,” Angel offered, knowing the offer wouldn’t be taken. He was sure the Doctor at least napped, though, for the way he’d found his pillows arranged on the couch, so he didn’t know what was up with this whole “I don’t sleep” thing.

The Doctor took another sip of his tea, looking exhausted by the idea. “I’m not sure we’re going to know the solution until I figure out why this is happening,” he said quietly. “Maybe if I knew why I’m wanted dead. You know, besides the usual reasons.” He smiled at this last bit like it was a joke, but Angel suspected the Doctor did have a set of usual reasons why people were trying to kill him. Angel had gone through periods of his life when there was a group of usual suspects who wanted him dead. 

“Okay…” Angel said thoughtfully. “Why ‘besides the usual’? Couldn’t this just be a cleverer-than-usual foe? Have you looked into the ‘usual reasons’?”

“Most of my enemies are more direct than this,” the Doctor said. “Not that they can’t make a secret plan, but...” he adjusted how his shoulders rested against the wall. “It’s so cold,” he said. He looked up, “I checked the cybermen, of course. They didn’t seem in on it.” 

“Of course…” Angel agreed quietly, though he didn’t know what Cybermen were. (He could guess easily enough.) “Did you do anything unusual recently that could have pissed off this unusual enemy? Could this be a natural backlash from something?”

“I, uh, have a very interesting life, Angel,” the Doctor said. 

“Right,” Angel nodded slowly. Point taken. This probably wasn’t going to be solved through research. Or without a TARDIS to take them to potential answers, where- and whenever they might be. “Well, I’m going to keep looking,” he said, heading toward the living room. “It’s helping me keep my mind off my confusing sex life.” He offered the Doctor a little smile.

“Glad to help with that,” the Doctor replied, also smiling. 

Angel paged through his books until the sun went down with much less focus than usual.

The Doctor had gone out not long after Angel had settled into reading, claiming that without sunlight he would wilt like a flower. Angel suspected that this was an exaggeration, but also acknowledged that he knew how much living people enjoyed the sun. After the sun had set, the Doctor still hadn’t returned. It wasn’t particularly unusual for him as (based on the stories he’d told Angel concerning his adventures in wandering the city) he tended to roam pretty far to field and didn’t hurry back. Angel suspected he’d stay out even longer since researching his own impending death seemed to drag him down from the normal good mood he tried to portray to the world. 

Understandably.

With the sun fully down, along with Angel’s hope for finding something in his books and - realizing his relatively rare opportunity to go outside by himself, Angel made his decision. 

He tossed the book aside, strode over to his weapons chest, and chose what he thought he might need, sliding one particular dagger into his boot and strapping its sibling knife to his hip. Then Angel closed the chest, pulled his coat over his shoulders, and headed out into the night.

~~~~~

Summer Rain proved to be difficult to track down in the dead of winter. She wasn’t in Decade like Angel had hoped. And the rest of the fae either said that he should look for Summer in her “due time” or noted that she was probably sleeping this time of year. None of them wanted to comment on the fact that she’d been awake and drinking in the same bar just a few days ago. 

Unexpectedly, it was a vampire that Angel happened to bump into on his way out of Decade that pointed him in the direction of a small massage parlor a few blocks up the street. “Just be sure you don’t insult her delicate sensibilities or nothin,” the vampire commented. “You ever seen one of the gentlefolk lose it? Still gives me the creeps.”

“Thanks,” Angel told him.

The massage parlor was a small establishment nestled between two restaurants. The entrance was tucked just inside the alley between the two larger businesses, so it was the kind of place you’d easily miss if you weren’t looking for it. A bell chimed as Angel went in, and he found a supernaturally lovely girl sitting behind the red-and-gold-gilded desk. 

“Welcome to paradise,” the girl greeted him. “Do you have an appointment?” 

“No,” Angel replied, walking up to the desk. Taking a covert, deep breath, he confirmed that she was fae. “I’m looking for Summer Rain.”

She nodded, standing from her seat with an effortless grace. “I’ll look in the back,” she said. “Have a seat.” 

She disappeared and, having nothing else to do, Angel sat in one of the plush waiting chairs. Violin music played softly and there was a fountain along one wall. On the table next to him, a brochure displayed a slideshow of services, and he was deeply tempted to “Tap here for more info!” on the ones for vampires.

Before he could, the receptionist returned and stepped around the desk to pull back a curtain and gesture Angel inside. “Your first visit is on the house,” she said. “Might I recommend our rainforest room?” 

“Thanks,” Angel told her as he stood and approached. “Can I take a raincheck? No pun intended. It’s just-- I only want to talk to her and then I have somewhere to be.”

The receptionist smiled and motioned him through the door. “I suggest the rainforest room,” she repeated. 

“Right,” Angel said, understanding what she was implying if not _why_ the fae needed to imply everything. Outside of it just being a part of their general faeness. He ducked his head around the curtain and entered the Rainforest Room.

It was aptly named. Already, Angel felt damp and sticky with humidity, and he seemed to be standing in a thicket of greenery. He could no longer hear the violin music under the cacophony of rain and animal sounds.

Summer Rain shimmered into visibility like she was stepping out of a thick fog. “Angel,” she said genially, “I thought I would see you again.” 

“Did you?” Angel supposed he shouldn’t have been very surprised. “Do you know why?”

“I’d rather hear it from you,” Summer Rain said. She moved fluidly over to a fallen log, her dress flowing behind her like a river, and sat lightly upon it. 

“I’ve come for the answer to the Doctor’s question,” Angel told her. “The one he wouldn’t ask. I’ve come to see what your price is for his alternative options.”

“Ahh,” Summer Rain said, her voice sounding like the first wave of rain, “then you know my price. Although I suspect that you do not have the information that I requested.” 

“The date and time of your death?” Angel asked. “Or did you also want the manner?”

“Yes,” Summer Rain said with a watery smile. “The date, time, and manner of my death. It is a fitting exchange, don’t you think? But one you are not capable of giving.” 

Angel frowned, thinking. _Not capable_ of giving her the information? Meaning he didn’t have it because he wasn’t a Time Lord (or some other temporally-knowledgeable being)? Well, that was true, but it was still an odd way to phrase it. He was perfectly capable of _giving_ the information, if he had it.

And he _could_ have it, if she would have no other trade. But he owed her that chance. Out of the kindness the Doctor said he had.

Angel looked up at Summer Rain. “Are you sure there is no other price you’ll accept? I can get the information, but...I don’t think you want it. And to be honest, I don’t especially want to give it.”

Summer Rain nodded. “I will be ready for my day as the dry earth is ready for a storm.” 

Angel sighed softly. He questioned himself one more time, but his decision had already been made. “Okay,” he agreed. “All of the alternatives available to the Doctor to evade the death he knows is coming, for the date, time, and manner of your death.”

“I can’t give you all, only the one I know of,” Summer Rain said. “And all I know of, is one.” 

“Fine,” Angel nodded. “If you think this one is worth the exchange.”

“I intuit that it would be acceptable to one as...sensitive as the Doctor. It appeals to our mutual love of the skies.” 

“Alright, then,” Angel agreed. “It’s a deal. You first.”

Summer Rain crossed her legs. “The Alignment of Exodor,” she said, “is a magical thing. Seventeen galaxies each in perfect alignment. It is supremely powerful and is locked in a single moment. It can be seen only once, when the fawn is comforted by the weeping woman.” Summer Rain dripped her fingers along the tree bark of the log she was sitting on. “Within that event is his doorway.” 

“The Alignment of Exodor,” Angel repeated, making sure he got it. “Seventeen galaxies aligned in a single moment. Can only be seen when the fawn is comforted by the weeping woman.” 

“Warn him that if he misses his chance, it will not be offered again. Utah is his ocean to which the streams of his life run.” 

Angel nodded. “I will, thank you. I hope he’s able to take full advantage of this information.”

“Only if he keeps his focus on the doorway offered to him,” Summer Rain said. 

Angel nodded. Silence fell. It was Angel’s turn to give Summer Rain her information, and he didn’t want to do it. But there were no more questions he could ask, no way he could stall. He had made a promise, and one didn’t break promises to the fae. 

Angel tuned into the position of the sun. Having lived in one place so long, he had gotten to know the angle and position of the sun as hands on a clock, and he could tell down to the minute what time it was. If he moved, even somewhere close like Belfast, he would have to relearn it all. He could always tell how close the sun was to rising, but applying it to human constructs of time always took some effort.

Here, though, he knew. 

“The date of your death,” Angel said slowly, “is February 6, 2229.” 

Today. 

“The time of your death will be 7:13 in the evening,” which was seconds away. 

“And the manner…” Angel bent and pulled the iron dagger he’d brought out of his boot, “is by a vampire with a dagger, who truly doesn’t want to do it, but he did make a promise.”

Summer Rain’s eyes widened with understanding and horror. She stood up, mouth open as if to protest as Angel stepped closer. Magic crackled through the air that tasted of a thunderstorm. 

The sun slid into the 7:13 p.m. position, and Angel slid the blade across Summer Rain’s throat. She gasped, then gargled. Electricity ran along the blade and into Angel’s arm, making it spasm, but it only locked his fist more tightly around the handle of the blade.

Angel jerked the blade from Summer Rain’s throat and felt her magic continue to stab at his skin like hailstones, but their deal had weakened her power. He was delivering on a promise that she had agreed to, and that above all else was what allowed Angel this opportunity. He drove the dagger into her chest, piercing her heart. Blood, dark and blue like deep water gushed, splattering in tiny flecks against Angel. The last expression Summer Rain gave him was of deep sadness. 

Angel’s conscience squirmed guiltily, but he waited as her body fell, crashing to the floor like a waterfall suddenly turned off. Water and blue blood mixed at his feet.

Angel gave a deep sigh. He returned his dagger to its place in his boot and turned around to leave the Rainforest Room. He paused at the reception desk.

“It wasn’t personal, it was business,” he told the girl sitting at the desk. “I’m sorry for the mess.”

The receptionist inhaled deeply, looking at Angel with deep, piercing eyes. “You answered her question, didn’t you? I told her no good would come of it.” 

“Good may come from her answer to my question, though,” Angel replied. “Small comfort to her, I know.” He sighed. “Have a good night.”

“Too late to wish you the same,” the receptionist said as she looked back down at her desk, losing interest in him. 


	11. The Return

By the time the Doctor made his way back to Angel’s apartment, he had soaked in enough of the salty sea air to corrode away his thoughts of his impending death. Angel’s sudden commitment to solving the problem had taken the Doctor completely by surprise and he still hadn’t quite figured out what, if anything, he should do about it. Until now, it had been a problem that was exclusively his and he hadn’t held any expectations of help coming from another quarter. After all, the only friends that he would ask were either involved (present for the event) or _there_ (actively killing him during the event). Everyone else tended to leave off at warnings that he should have seen this coming. Even Angel had seemed content to let it pass with a promise to look into it until the Judith situation had resolved itself (mostly). And now he was...looking into it. The Doctor wouldn’t have said that he expected Angel was lying about his intentions to help, but based on how touched he felt that Angel was actually spending time on it, he was truly surprised. But it was a friendly, heartwarming surprise and his life had been missing those of late. 

Still, it was a downer of a topic, and he worried that it would somehow taint the memories that Angel had of their time together. 

He returned to the apartment with the spring back in his step. The time outside had done him good and he tried to get a tight grip on his good mood as he hung his coat on the coat tree. “It was a lovely day today,” he reported, brushing snow from his hair. “I mean, piles of snow. And I think some people are annoyed at that, but it’s lovely!” 

The Doctor shot a grin at Angel, who had set his books down for the night and was sitting in one of the armchairs with a drink in his hand. “I suggest a walk,” the Doctor continued. “It’s just the thing.” He stepped around the large fan on his half-disassembled Timey-Wimey detector. “No evil-doers to stop though,” he added. “I would have called if there were.” 

“Do you drink, Doctor?” Angel asked. He had an odd expression. A sort of hard twinkle, if twinkles could be hard. Like he was pleased about something but trying to hold it back. “You always order soda or tea at the bar.”

“Those are drinks,” the Doctor said. He tried to hold his smile, but felt his brow furrow in spite of his efforts. He rubbed at the back of his head with his hand. “The ginger in the ginger beer has more of an alcohol-equivalent sort of poisoning effect on my system,” he added helpfully. “Well, not the tea. I just like a cuppa.” 

Angel’s strange hard-twinkle turned into an interested expression. “Oh,” he said. “I wish I had ginger beer for you, then. I think the occasion calls for it.”

“Has Judith come back?” the Doctor asked, looking around for his TARDIS. “Did I miss it?” 

“No,” Angel replied, a smile creeping onto his face. 

The Doctor caught the smile. Angel so rarely smiled, it felt like an occasion all on its own. “What’s happened then?” he asked, walking around the apothecary table to stand in front of the couch where he had the option to sit and have a conversation with Angel. If a conversation was what they were having. 

Angel smiled for another moment before he said, “The Alignment of Exodor.”

Whatever the Doctor had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. It took him a moment to remember what The Alignment of Exodor was. And then another moment to think of what it could possibly do with anything. 

It had a lot to do with him not dying. 

The Doctor sank onto the couch, trying to stamp out the waves of fear, excitement, hope, terror. “It’s--” he waved his hand, “--no one knows when it happens,” he said. “ _I_ don’t know when it happens.” 

“When the fawn is comforted by the weeping woman,” Angel replied, still smiling at him.

That also took a moment to make sense. But his mind was spinning and he quickly made the connection between the constellation of Women Wept and the Fawn (another less stunningly beautiful constellation), which if you were in a certain location, would be in alignment...

“Are you sure?” the Doctor managed to breathe. 

Angel nodded. “Positive. I’m going to order you some ginger beer,” he decided, tapping the ring on his left hand with his thumb. The holographic screen of his Palm projected into his hand.

The Doctor blinked back tears. He didn’t know how Angel had done it, but he’d just handed the Doctor a real, usable solution: A one-way ticket to another universe. The jump was so turbulent that it would break his temporal ties with _this_ universe. He would disappear to where Utah could never touch him. 

He’d never see any of his friends again. But he wouldn’t do that dead either. 

“I don’t--” he said, grasping for a response to this gift. “Angel, that would _work_ ,” he said. This more than anything was a miracle. He should say Thank You. 

He would also need to say Goodbye.

Angel grinned over at him. “Well that’s a relief,” he said, tapping the ring again. The screen went off. “So tell me,” he said conversationally, looking extremely pleased with himself. “How exactly does it work?”

The Doctor ran a hand down his face. That seemed like a good distraction: explain it. Don’t think about the magnitude of it. “It’s a...path. Door...it goes to a different dimension. It’s only open in a single instant, but if I went through it in that instant then I’d break the ties that are pulling me toward Utah. I’d be out of reach.” 

Angel sipped his drink as he took that in. “And no one else is in danger,” he said, partly to himself. “Brilliant.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor had to agree. He leaned back on the cushions of the couch and covered his eyes. He didn’t have to die. He’d lose everything. He let out a laugh. “I can’t believe you found it.” 

“ _I_ can’t believe I don’t have a proper drink for you,” Angel replied. “I’m ashamed.” There were the sounds of Angel standing up from his chair. “Can I get you a scotch while we wait for your ginger beer?”

Angel’s preoccupation with beverages seemed far outside the point, but then again, the Doctor thought Angel had a right to celebrate as he would. “Yeah,” the Doctor said, trying to remember if he’d ever had scotch in this body and if he liked it. 

There was the sound of a clinking glass and the splash of liquid and then footsteps as Angel returned. The footsteps paused next to the Doctor and then they turned and the weight on the couch shifted as Angel sat down next to him. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

That was a question. The Doctor lifted his hand from his face, wiping a few tears away as he did. “Yeah,” he said again. It came out a bit thick. He pushed himself up and cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s just a lot. That’s more than I expected,” he said as Angel passed him the glass of scotch. 

Angel was silent for a moment, and then he said, “I only ever do more than expected for people I consider friends.”

The Doctor sniffed, still trying to regain some control of himself. “Thank you,” he said, hoping Angel knew it wasn’t just for the scotch. He lifted the drink to his lips and sipped. It burned uncomfortably and also tasted just a little bit like battery acid. He opened his mouth again and let the remaining scotch in his mouth fall back into his glass. “Oh, wow, that’s just...the worst,” he said, wincing. “You drink this?” 

Angel blinked at him in astonishment. “It’s aged _forty years_. You don’t like it?”

The Doctor wasn’t surprised that no one had touched this particular drink for 40 years. It wasn’t appealing at all. “I’m sure it’s great,” he said, swallowing the last of the flavor from his mouth and regretting it. 

“Here,” Angel grumbled, taking the glass from the Doctor’s hand and setting it on the apothecary table. “Ginger beer it is, I guess.”

The Doctor coughed again. “No, the burning sensation had a nice grounding effect. Very helpful,” he insisted. 

Angel stood up, setting his own glass on the table, and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a glass of water and handed it to the Doctor.

The Doctor took the glass of water and held it between his hands. “I don’t know what to say,” he said. “And that’s pretty new for me.” 

“I know,” Angel replied, his tone amused. “You don’t have to say anything. Because...I know. Just...do amazing things with the rest of your life. I’d like for it to be a good, long time before we build that bar together.”

The Doctor wondered if being in another dimension meant that he would go to a different hell. It felt a bit like a betrayal. Maybe he should say goodbye to Angel now. He didn’t have long, after all. “Me too,” he said. 

Angel placed one hand on the Doctor’s shoulder and squeezed it firmly, offering him a smile.

The smile was warm and friendly and helpful in a way that the Doctor had been missing of late. It made him want to be friends with Angel and feel that they actually were friends. It also made him regret having to say goodbye so soon after their friendship had started. 

The Doctor opened his mouth to say something friendly and not at all Goodbye when he heard it: The TARDIS is all of her grinding, whooshing, dimensional shifting, _magical_ glory. She arrived majestically, her windows glowing with such a bright white that it seemed to dim the rest of the room.

She also landed just a centimeter away from the extended fan on his Timey-Wimey Detector, which was really an impressive parking job. 

“Hello, Old Girl,” he said with a grin. “Took you long enough.” 

“Oh my god,” Angel said, looking at the TARDIS with the same sort of shock (but fortunately not horror) that he had when he’d come home to find his washing machine in pieces.

“I know,” the Doctor said. The TARDIS really could be life-alteringly wonderful. He stood up from the couch and made his way around the apothecary table. “What did I tell you?” he said to Angel, allowing himself to be a little smug now that the danger had passed. “Just a little joyride.” 

Angel made an odd little noise in his throat and nodded. “A little joyride,” he repeated numbly. He moved over a few steps to stand in front of the door, where he just stared at it, his expression freezing into an incomprehensible mask.

The Doctor slapped Angel’s shoulder encouragingly. Angel looked only slightly less frozen, but the Doctor let him be, instead pulling the TARDIS key from his pocket and sliding it into the TARDIS lock. 

The door creaked open as the Doctor gave it a gentle push, revealing a stunned Judith standing just inside. 

“Well,” the Doctor said, “Angel did try to warn me that you’d steal my TARDIS.” He grinned at Judith’s shocked expression. “See anything exciting, hmmm?” 

Judith blinked and looked around like she hadn’t quite figured out how great the ride she’d just taken was. The Doctor stepped to one side to let her have a better view of Angel. 

Judith stared at him, and then her gaze took in the rest of the room as she hovered in the TARDIS doorway. “We’re-- How did you two get _here_ so fast?” She tilted her head at Angel and added, “And are you wearing a different shirt?”

Angel looked down at his shirt, but said nothing. He could be a bit useless. “We had loads of time, didn’t we, Angel?” the Doctor said helpfully. He pulled a hand out of his pocket and offered it to Judith to take while she alighted from the TARDIS. “You took the short way around.” 

“What do you--” Judith started to ask, but was interrupted when Angel suddenly pulled her into a hug. She made a noise of surprise, and then gave a little laugh as she lightly embraced him back. After a moment, Angel let her go, and Judith finished her question: “What do you mean, ‘the short way around’?”

“You stole my time machine,” the Doctor said. “And skipped over the next few weeks, leaving Angel and me to trudge through all of those days in the right order by ourselves. It’s been exhausting, but we’ve made the best of it.” He reached out and hugged her too, not wanting to be left out of the welcome-back hugs as they were being given out. 

As he let her go, Judith repeated, “Few _weeks?_ I’ve been gone for _weeks?_ ”

“Twelve days,” Angel said, finally using real, actual words. “Not quite weeks.”

As Judith took this in, horror started to cloud her expression. “I’ve missed-- William; does he know? What about work? And I’ve missed cards with the ladies. The chicken I just bought is surely spoiled by now. What about--”

“We took care of it,” Angel interrupted. “Not the chicken. But work, your boss; we took care of it. And Will’s fine.”

“You’ve been fighting the mob. Good work,” the Doctor added. It seemed an important detail. 

Judith, however, looked mildly horrified. “You’re not serious. I don’t fight the mob! How is anyone supposed to believe that?”

“As a witness!” the Doctor explained cheerfully. “You did a very good job in witness protection, but they’ve been locked up. Unfortunately, we have to ask that you not describe any details of the case to the public.” 

“Oh,” Judith looked intensely relieved at this, and then she smiled. “Oh, that _is_ clever!”

The Doctor beamed. He’d thought so. He was glad that Judith appreciated it. He took a little bow. “Of course, Angel’s been very concerned.”

“A little concerned,” Angel corrected quickly, although Judith gave him a knowing smile. Caught by someone who knew him well, Angel asked, “Are you okay?”

“I was thrown into a railing a bit, but I’ll be alright,” she replied. “And you? I left you all in a rather...eh...dramatic moment.”

“I got stabbed,” Angel reported. “But I’m fine now.”

“Oh,” Judith nodded understandably. “I’m glad you’re better. Doctor?”

The Doctor smiled at her. “Not stabbed at all, thank you.” He paused, taking in Angel and Judith, who were still standing very close together. He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before. They would have things to sort out now. “I should be going then. I don’t mean to rush off, but I’ve already overstayed my welcome.” 

Angel looked at the Doctor suddenly, like seeing him for the first time. “You haven’t,” he said softly. Then he hesitated and corrected himself, “Well, you kind of have, but you’re welcome _back_. Whenever you...well, you should come back sometime.”

But the Doctor would have to leave. Not now, but sometime soon. The Doctor hated goodbyes. He liked the idea of the idea that any day he might appear again, better. “Thank you Angel,” he said seriously. “For everything.” 

Angel nodded. “Of course,” he said softly. “Thank you. Not for _everything_. But for a lot of things. Most things.”

The Thing Detector made a particularly loud whirring sound and Angel winced. He pointed at it and asked, “Want me to help you get that on your ship?”

“Oh, I already have one,” the Doctor said. “You can keep it.” He grinned winningly and made his escape before Angel had time to argue that point. 

Jumping onto the TARDIS, he waved and smiled at the pair that was Judith and Angel. “Farewell!” he said. “Godspeed! Goodnight!” 

“No, really, take this--” Angel started.

The Doctor closed the TARDIS door. 

And in the silence, the Doctor softly said, “Goodbye.” He smiled, feeling every bit of happy-to-be-home and sad-to-be-going and pleased-at-friends-reuniting and relieved-to-have-a-solution, and a million other little feelings all at once. Taking the platform stairs two at a time, he reached the console and ran his fingers over the controls. The TARDIS was such a good place to feel so many things. Being so much bigger on the inside. He cast one final look over his shoulder at the door before he pulled the lever and launched himself into the universe and the rest of his life. 

~~~~~

Angel was trying not to panic.

You would think that a 475-year-old vampire who had survived multiple apocalypses and Hell itself would be very well-practiced at not panicking, but this was a different kind of panic. Apocalypses, monsters, Hell: those were things you were _supposed_ to panic about. 

But so far, the entire two-week duration (pre-TARDIS-stealing) of Angel’s unspoken relationship with Judith was balanced on their mutual not-panic; their mutual heat and drive and headlong casting into the fiery unknown.

The TARDIS door slammed in Angel’s face and moments later the ship faded, grinding from view and leaving Angel standing alone with Judith and that stupid whirring machine the Doctor had built. The two glasses of scotch and the glass of water still sat on the apothecary table, the celebration of the Doctor’s life-giving solution halted. Ginger beer would be arriving soon. Did Angel have something else to celebrate? Should he offer some to Judith? From her perspective, she’d just had drinks with him at the Dragon’s Crown and had likely been expecting to go home with him that night (or him to go home with her), and...here they were. Home, alone, with the bedroom door open and ready.

Angel felt Judith’s hand on his arm and he turned to look at her.

“You must be tired,” she said knowingly. “ _I’m_ tired, and I haven’t had an unexpected houseguest for the last twelve days.” Her hand slid off his arm. “I think I should go home and regroup. Tomorrow I’ll go into work and see what the damage is. I expect I’ll need to call several people.”

“Oh,” Angel said, suddenly remembering, “we told your friend upstairs - Marietta Goldberg - that your mother was suddenly ill. We ran into her in the hall.” He paused and then added, “Marietta, not your...mother.”

Judith nodded. ‘Yes, I got that. Thank you, that… I can make that work.”

Angel nodded, too. Judith smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then Judith moved toward the front door. “I’m looking forward to hearing more about him,” Judith said, turning when she reached it. “The Doctor. And what happened while I was gone.”

A smile pulled at Angel’s mouth again. “I’ll fill you in later,” he promised.

“Good,” Judith said simply. She held the gaze just one moment longer. “Goodnight, Angel.”

“Goodnight,” Angel replied. 

Judith shut the door.

The Thing Detector whirred quietly. Amidst the clicking and clacking of the rotating parts, Angel couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard a tiny _ding_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The stories will keep continuing, so keep checking back on the _Blood & Time_ series. And if you liked this story, check out the _Interaction_ series, too! Kudos and comments make our day/week/month; since this is such a small crossover fandom we don't get a whole lot of traffic. :-)
> 
> Hang in there, everyone!


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